UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

AT   LOS  ANGELES 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 


BY 


THEODOEE  (WINTHEOP, 


AUTHOR  OF    "CECIL  DBEEME,"    "JOHN  BRENT,"    ETC. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY, 

LATE  TICKNOB  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 

1871. 


Entered  according  t"  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

TICKWOR    AND    FIELDS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBKJDOI: 
WKLCH,   BIGILOW,   AMD   COMPART, 

TO  TBI  UNIVERSITY. 


TS 


PART    I. 


386909 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 


1. 


THE  Cavaliers  always  ran  when  they  saw  Puri- 
tan Colonel  Brothertoft  and  his  troop  of  white 
horses  coming. 

They  ran  from  the  lost  battle  of  Horncastle,  in 
the  days  of  the  great  rebellion,  and  the  Colonel 
chased. 

North  and  West  he  chased  over  the  heaths 
and  wolds  of  his  native  Lincolnshire.  Every 
leap  took  him  farther  away  from  the  peaked 
turrets  of  Brothertoft  Manor-House,  —  his  home, 
midway  between  the  towers  of  Lincoln  Cathe- 
dral and  Boston  on  the  Witham. 

Late  at  night  he  rode  wearily  back  to  Horn 
castle.  He  first  took  care  that  those  famous 
horses  were  fed  a  good  feed,  after  their  good 
fight  and  brave  chase,  and  then  laid  himsell 
down  in  his  cloak  to  sleep  beside  Cromwell  an<? 
Fairfax. 

Presently  a  youth  on  a  white  horse  came  gallop- 


8  £DWIN  BROTHEETOFT. 

ing  into  the  town,  up  to  the  quaint  house  where 
the  Colonel  quartered,  and  shouted  for  him. 
Brothertoft  looked  out  at  the  window.  By  the 
faint  light  he  recognized  young  Galsworthy,  son 
of  his  richest  tenant  and  trustiest  follower. 

"  The  King's  people  have  attacked  the  Manor- 
House,"  cried  the  boy.  "  My  lady  is  trying  to 
hold  it  with  the  servants.  I  come  for  help." 

In  a  moment  a  score  of  men  were  mounted 
and  dashing  southward.  Ten  miles  to  go.  They 
knew  every  foot  of  it.  The  twenty  white  horses 
galloped  close,  and  took  their  leaps  together 
steadily,  —  an  heroic  sight  to  be  seen  in  that 
clear,  frosty  night  of  October! 

The  fire  of  dawn  already  glimmered  in  the 
east  when  they  began  to  see  another  fire  on  the 
southern  horizon.  The  Colonel's  heart  told  him 
whose  towers  were  burning.  They  rode  their 
best ;  but  they  had  miles  to  go,  and  the  red 
flames  outran  them. 

Colonel  Brothertoft  said  not  a  word.  He 
spurred  on,  and  close  at  his  heels  came  the 
troop,  with  the  fire  shining  on  their  corselets  and 
gleaming  in  the  eyes  of  their  horses. 

Safe  !  yes  ;  the  house  might  go,  —  for  his  dear 
wife  was  safe,  and  his  dear  son,  his  little  name- 
sake Edwin,  was  safe  in  her  arms. 

The  brave  lady  too  had  beaten  off  the  maraud- 
ers. But  fight  fire  as  they  would,  they  could 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  9 

rescue  only  one  angle  of  the  mansion.  That 
"  curious  new  brique  fabrick,  four  square,  with 
a  turret  at  each  corner,  two  good  Courts,  a  fine 
Library,  and  most  romantick  Wildernesse ;  a 
pleasant  noble  seat,  worthie  to  be  noted  by  alle," 
—  so  it  is  described  in  an  Itinerary  of  1620, — 
had  been  made  to  bear  the  penalty  for  its  mas- 
ter's faith  to  Freedom. 

"  There  is  no  service  without  suffering,"  he 
quietly  said,  as  he  stood  with  the  fair  Lucy,  his 
wife,  after  sunrise,  before  the  smoking  ruins. 

He  looked  west  over  the  green  uplands  of  his 
manor,  and  east  over  his  broad  acres  of  fenny 
land,  billowy  with  rank  grass,  and  all  the  beloved 
scene  seemed  strange  and  unlovely  to  him. 

Even  the  three  beautiful  towers  of  Lincoln 
Cathedral  full  in  view,  his  old  companions  and 
monitors,  now  emphasized  the  devastation  of  his 
home. 

He  could  not  dally  with  regrets.  There  was 
still  work  for  him  and  the  Brothertoft  horses  to 
do.  He  must  leave  his  wife  well  guarded,  and 
gallop  back. 

So  there  was  a  parting  and  a  group,  —  the  fair 
wife,  the  devoted  soldier,  the  white  charger,  and 
the  child  awakened  to  say  good-bye,  and  scared 
at  his  father's  glinting  corselet,  —  a  group  such 
as  a  painter  loves. 

The  Colonel  bore  westward  to  cross  the  lino 
i* 


10  EDWIN  BROTIIERTOFT. 

of  raarcli  of  the  Parliamentary  army,  and  by  and 
by,  as  he  drew  nearer  the  three  towers  of  Lin- 
coln, they  began  to  talk  to  him  by  Great  Tom, 
the  bell. 

From  his  youth  up,  the  Great  Tom  of  Lincoln, 
then  in  full  swing  and  full  roar,  had  aroused, 
warned,  calmed,  and  comforted  him,  singing  to 
him,  along  the  west  wind,  pious  chants,  merry 
refrains,  graceful  madrigals,  stirring  lyrics,  more 
than  could  be  repeated,  even  "  if  all  the  geese 
in  Lincoln's  fens  Produced  spontaneous  well- 
made  pens,"  and  every  pen  were  a  writer  of 
poetry  and  music. 

To-day  Great  Tom  had  but  one  verse  to  repeat, 

"  Westward  bo !    A  new  home  across  the  seas." 

This  was  its  stern  command  to  the  Puritan 
Colonel,  saddened  by  the  harm  and  cruelty  of 
war. 

"  Yes,  my  old  oracle,"  he  replied,  "  if  we  fail, 
if  we  lose  Liberty  here,  I  will  obey,  and  seek 
it  in  the  New  World." 

For  a  time  it  seemed  that  they  had  not  failed. 
England  became  a  Commonwealth.  Brothertoffc 
returned  in  peace  to  his  dismantled  home.  Its 
ancient  splendors  could  never  be  restored.  Three 
fourths  of  the  patriot's  estate  were  gone.  He 
was  too  generous  to  require  back  from  his  party, 
iu  its  success,  what  he  had  frankly  given  for  the 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  11 

nation's  weal.  He  lived  quietly  and  sparingly. 
His  sole  extravagance  was,  that,  as  a  monument 
of  bygone  grandeur,  he  commissioned  Sir  An- 
thony Vandyck  to  paint  him,  his  wife,  his  boy, 
and  the  white  charger,  as  they  stood  grouped  for 
the  parting  the  morning  of  the  fire. 

So  green  ivy  covered  the  ruins,  and  for  years 
Great  Tom  of  Lincoln  never  renewed  its  sen- 
tence of  exile. 

Time  passed.  Kingly  Oliver  died.  There  was 
no  Protector  blood  in  gentle  Richard  Cromwell. 
He  could  not  wield  the  land.  "  Ho  for  cava- 
liers !  hey  for  cavaliers  !  "  In  came  the  Merrio 
Monarch.  Out  Puritans,  and  in  Nell  Gwynn  ! 
Out  crop-ears  and  in  love-locks !  Away  sad 
colors !  only  frippery  is  the  mode.  To  prison 
stout  John  Bunyan  ;  to  office  slight  Sam  Pepys  ! 
To  your  blind  study,  John  Milton,  and  indite 
Paradise  Lost ;  to  Whitehall,  John  Wilmot,  Earl 
of  Rochester,  and  scribble  your  poem,  "  Noth- 
ing !  "  Yes  ;  go  Bigotry,  your  jackboots  smell 
unsavory  ;  enter  Prelacy  iii  fine  linen  and  per- 
fume !  Procul,  O  procul,  Libertas  !  for,  alas  ! 
English  knees  bend  to  the  King's  mistress,  and 
English  voices  swear,  "  The  King  can  do  no 
wrong."  Boom  sullenly,  Great  Tom  of  Lincoln, 
the  dirge  of  Freedom ! 

Ring  solemnly,  Great  Tom  of  Lincoln,  to 
Colonel  Brothertoft  the  stern  command  revived. 


12  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Syllable   again    along   the   west    wind    the   BCD 
tence  of  exile, — 

u  Westward  ho  I    A  new  home  across  the  seas ! " 

Every  day  the  nation  cringed  baser  and  baser. 
Every  day  the  great  bell,  from  its  station  high 
above  all  the  land,  shouted  more  vehemently 
to  the  lord  of  Brothertoft  Manor  to  shake  the 
dust  from  his  feet,  and  withdraw  himself  from 
among  a  people  grown  utterly  dastard.  His 
young  hopes  were  perished.  His  old  associates 
were  slain  or  silenced.  He  would  go. 

And  just  at  this  moment,  when  in  1665  all 
freedom  was  dead  in  England,  Winthrop  of 
Connecticut  wrote  to  his  friend  at  Brothertoft 
Manor :  "  We  have  conquered  the  Province  of 
New  Netherlands.  The  land  is  goodlie,  and 
there  is  a  great  brave  river  running  through 
the  midst  of  it.  Sell  thy  Manor,  bring  thy 
people,  and  come  to  us.  We  need  thee,  and 
the  like  of  thee,  in  our  new  communities.  We 
have  brawn  enow,  and  much  godlinesse  and 
singing  of  psalms  ;  but  gentlemen  and  gentle- 
women be  few  among  us." 

So  farewell  to  England,  debauched  and  dis- 
graced ! 

Great  Tom  of  Lincoln  tolled  farewell,  and  the 
beautiful  tower  of  St.  Botolph's  at  Boston  saw 
the  exiles  onit  to  sea. 


II. 


BLUFF  is  the  bow  and  round  as  a  pumpkin 
is  the  stern  of  the  Dutch  brig,  swinging  to  its 
anchor  in  the  bay  of  New  York.  It  is  the  new 
arrival  from  England,  this  sweet  autumn  day  of 
1665.  The  passengers  land.  Colonel  Brother- 
toft  and  family !  Welcome,  chivalric  gentleman, 
to  this  raw  country!  You  and  your  class  are 
needed  here. 

And  now  disembark  a  great  company  of 
Lincolnshire  men,  old  tenants  or  old  soldiers  of 
the  Colonel's.  Their  names  are  thorough  Lin- 
colnshire. Here  come  Wrangles,  Swinesheads, 
Timber-lands,  Mumbys,  Bilsbys,  Hogsthorpes, 
Swillingores,  and  Galsworthys,  old  and  young, 
men  and  women. 

These  land,  and  stare  about  forlornly,  after 
the  manner  of  emigrants.  They  sit  on  their 
boxes,  and  wish  they  were  well  back  in  the  old 
country.  They  see  the  town  gallows,  an  emi- 
nent object  on  the  beach,  and  are  taught  that 
where  man  goes,  crime  goes  also.  A  frowzy 
Indian  paddles  ashore  with  clams  to  sell ;  at 


14  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

this  vision,  their  dismayed  scalps  tremble  on 
their  sinciputs.  A  sly  Dutchman,  the  fatter  pro- 
totype of  to-day's  emigrant  runner,  stands  before 
them  and  says,  seductively,  "  Bier,  Schnapps  !  " 
They  shake  their  heads  firmly,  arid  respond, 
"  Nix ! " 

Colonel  Brothertoft  was  received  with  due  dis- 
tinction by  Governor  Nicolls  and  Mayor  Willet. 
Old  Peter  Stuyvesaut  was  almost  consoled  that 
Hollanders  were  sent  to  their  Bouweries  to  smoke 
and  grow  stolid,  if  such  men  as  this  new-comer 
were  to  succeed  them  in  power. 

The  Colonel  explored  that  "great  brave  river" 
which  Connecticut  Winthrop  had  celebrated  in 
his  letter.  Its  beautiful  valley  was  "  all  before 
him  where  to  choose."  Dutch  land-patents  were 
plenteous  in  market  as  villa  sites  after  a  modern 
panic.  Crown  grants  were  to  be  had  from  the 
new  proprietary,  almost  for  the  asking. 

The  lord  of  old  Brothertoft  Manor  selected  his 
square  leagues  for  the  new  Manor  of  Brothertoft 
at  the  upper  end  of  Westchester  County,  border- 
ing upon  the  Highlands  of  the  Hudson.  A  few 
pioneer  Dutchmen  —  De  Witts,  Van  Warts,  and 
Canadys  —  were  already  colonized  there.  His 
Lincolnshire  followers  soon  found  their  places  ; 
but  they  came  from  the  fens,  and  did  not  love 
the  hills,  and  most  of  them  in  time  dispersed  to 
flutter  country. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  15 

The  new  proprietor's  wealth  was  considerable 
for  America.  He  somewhat  diminished  it  by 
reproducing,  as  well  as  colonial  workmen  could 
do,  that  corner  of  the  old  manor-house  untouched 
by  the  fire.  It  grew  up  a  strange  exotic,  this 
fine  mansion,  in  the  beautiful  wilderness.  The 
"  curious  fabrick  "  of  little  imported  bricks,  with 
its  peaked  turret,  its  quaint  gables,  its  square 
bay-window,  and  grand  porch,  showed  incongru- 
ously at  first,  among  the  stumps  of  a  clearing. 

And  there  the  exiled  gentleman  tried  to  live 
an  exotic  life.  He  bestowed  about  him  the  fur- 
niture of  old  Brothertoft  Manor.  He  hung  his 
Vandyck  on  the  wall.  He  laid  his  presentation 
copy  of  Mr.  John  Milton's  new  poem,  Paradise 
Lost,  on  the  table. 

But  the  vigor  and  dash  of  the  Colonel's  youth 
were  gone.  His  heart  was  sick  for  the  failure 
of  liberty  at  home.  The  rough  commonplace  of 
pioneering  wearied  him.  He  had  done  his  last 
work  in  life  when  he  uprooted  from  England,  and 
transferred  his  race  to  flourish  or  wither  on  the 
new  soil.  He  had  formed  the  family  character ; 
he  had  set  the  shining  example.  Let  his  son 
sustain  the  honor  of  the  name ! 

The  founder  of  Brothertoft  Manor  died,  and  a 
second  Edwin,  the  young  Astyanax  of  Yandyck's 
picture,  became  the  Patroon. 

A  third  Edwin  succeeded  him,  a  fourth  fob 


16  EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT. 

lowed,  and  in  1736  the  fifth  Edwin  Brothertoft 
was  born.  He  was  an  only  child,  like  each  of 
his  forefathers.  These  pages  chronicle  his  great 
joy  and  his  great  sorrow,  and  how  he  bore  him- 
self at  a  crisis  of  his  individual  life.  Whoever 
runs  may  read  stories  like  his  in  the  broad  light 
of  to-day.  This  one  withdraws  itself  into  the 
chiaroscuro  of  a  recent  past. 

The  Brothertoft  fortunes  did  not  wax  on  the 
new  continent.  Each  gentle  Edwin  transmitted 
to  his  heir  the  Manor  docked  of  a  few  more 
square  miles,  the  mansion  a  little  more  dilapi- 
dated, the  furniture  more  worn  and  broken,  the 
name  a  little  less  significant  in  the  pushing  world 
of  the  Province. 

But  each  Edwin,  with  the  sword  and  portrait 
of  the  first  American,  handed  down  the  still  more 
precious  heirlooms  of  the  family,  —  honor  un- 
blemished, quick  sympathies,  a  tender  heart,  a 
generous  hand,  refinement,  courtesy,  —  in  short, 
all  the  qualities  of  mind  and  person  that  go  "  to 
grace  a  gentleman." 

It  became  the  office  of  each  to  toe  the  type 
gentleman  of  his  time. 

Perhaps  that  was  enough.  Perhaps  they  were 
purposely  isolated  from  other  offices.  Nature 
takes  no  small  pains  to  turn  out  her  type  black- 
guard a  complete  model  of  ignobility,  and  makes 
it  his  exclusive  business  4o  be  himself.  Why 


EDWIN    BROTHERTOFT.  17 

should  she  not  be  as  careful  with  the  antago- 
nistic order? 

The  Brothertofts  always  married  women  like 
themselves,  the  female  counterparts  of  their  mild 
manhood.  Each  wife  blended  with  her  husband. 
No  new  elements  of  character  appeared  in  the 
only  child.  Not  one  of  them  was  a  father  vigor- 
ous enough  to  found  a  sturdy  clan  with  broad 
shoulders  and  stiff  wills,  ordained  to  success 
from  the  cradle. 

They  never  held  their  own  in  the  world,  much 
less  took  what  was  another's.  Each  was  con- 
scious of  a  certain  latent  force,  and  left  it  latent. 
They  lived  weakly,  and  died  young,  like  fair 
exotics.  They  were  a  mild,  inefficient,  ineffect- 
ual, lovely,  decaying  race,  strong  in  all  the 
charming  qualities,  feeble  in  all  the  robust  ones. 

And  now  let  the  procession  of  ancestors  fade 
away  into  shadows;  and  let  the  last  shadow 
lead  forth  the  hero  of  this  history  in  his  proper 
substance ! 


III. 

EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT,  fifth  of  that  name,  had 
been  two  years  at  Oxford,  toiling  at  the  peace- 
ful tasks  and  dreaming  the  fair  dreams  of  a 
young  scholar. 

It  was  the  fashion  of  that  time  to  send  young 
men  of  property  to  be  educated  and  Anglicized 
in  England. 

Bushwhackers  and  backwoodsmen  the  new 
continent  trained  to  perfection.  Most  of  the 
Colonists  knew  that  two  and  two  make  four, 
and  could  put  this  and  that  together.  But 
lore,  classic  or  other,  —  heavy  lore  out  of  tomes, 
—  was  not  to  be  had  short  of  the  old  country. 
The  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  mills,  Har- 
vard and  Yale,  turned  out  a  light  article  of  do- 
mestic lore,  creditable  enough  considering  their 
inferior  facilities  for  manufacture ;  the  heavy 
British  stuff  was  much  preferred  by  those  who 
could  afford  to  import  it. 

Edwin  went  to  be  Anglicized.  Destiny  meant 
that  he  shall  not  be.  His  life  at  Oxford  came 
to  a  sharp  end. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  19 

His  father  wrote :  "  My  son,  I  am  dying  the 
early  death  of  a  Brothertoft.  I  have  been  fool- 
ish enough  to  lose  the  last  of  our  fortune. 
Come  home  and  forgive  me ! " 

Beautiful  Oxford !  Fair  spires  and  towers  and 
dreamy  cloisters,  —  dusky  chapels,  and  rich  old 
halls,  —  green  gardens,  overlooked  by  lovely 
oriels,  —  high  avenues  of  elms  for  quiet  con- 
templation,—  companionship  of  earnest  minds, 
—  a  life  of  simple  rules  and  struggles  without 
pain,  —  how  hard  it  was  for  the  young  man  to 
leave  all  this ! 

It  was  mid-January,  1757,  when  he  saw  home 
again. 

A  bleak  prospect.  The  river  was  black  ice. 
Dunderberg  and  the  Highlands  were  chilly  with 
snow.  The  beech-trees  wore  their  dead  leaves, 
in  forlorn  protest  against  the  winter-time.  The 
dilapidated  Manor-House  published  the  faded  for- 
tunes of  its  tenants. 

"  Tenants  at  will,"  so  said  the  father  to  his 
son,  in  the  parlor  where  Vandyck's  picture  pre- 
sided. 

"  Whose  will  ? "   Edwin  asked.  i 

"  Colonel  Billop's." 

"  The  name  is  new  to  me." 

"  He  is  a  half-pay  officer  and  ex-army-con- 
tractor,—  a  hard,  cruel  man.  He  has  made  a 
great  fortune,  as  such  men  make  fortunes." 


20  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Will  his  method  suit  me,  father  ?  You 
know  I  have  mine  to  make." 

"Hardly.  I  am  afraid  you  could  not  trade 
with  the  Indians,  —  a  handful  of  beads  for  a 
beaver-skin,  a  'big  drunk'  for  a  bale  of  them." 

"I  am  afraid  not." 

"I  fear  your  conscience  is  too  tender  to  let 
you  put  off  beef  that  once  galloped  under  the 
saddle  to  feed  troops." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  love  horses  too  much  to  encour- 
age hippophagy." 

"  Could  you  look  up  men  in  desperate  circum- 
stance, and  take  their  last  penny  in  usury  ?  " 

"  Is  that  his  method  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  And  to  crown  all,  could  you 
seduce  your  friend  into  a  promising  job,  make 
the  trustful  fool  responsible  for  the  losses,  and 
when  they  came,  supply  him  means  to  pay  them, 
receiving  a  ruinous  mortgage  as  security  ?  This 
is  what  he  has  done  to  me.  Do  any  of  these 
methods  suit  my  son  ?  "  asked  the  elder,  with  a 
gentleman's  scorn. 

"  Meanness  and  avarice  are  new  to  me,"  the 
junior  rejoined,  with  a  gentleman's  indignation. 
"  Can  a  fortune  so  made  profit  a  man  ?  " 

"  Billop  will  not  enjoy  it.  He  is  dying,  too. 
His  heirs  will  take  possession,  as  mine  retire." 

Edwin  could  not  think  thus  coolly  of  his  f3 
ther's  death.    To  check  tears,  he  went  on  with 
his  queries. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  21 

"He  has  heirs,  then,  our  unenviable  suc- 
cessor ?  " 

"  One  child,  heir  or  heiress ;  I  do  not  remem- 
ber which." 

*'-  Eeir  or  heiress,  I  hope  the  new  tenant  will 
keep  the  old  place  in  order,  until  I  can  win  it 
back  for  you,  father." 

"  It  cheers  me  greatly,  my  dear  son,"  said  the 
father,  with  a  smile  on  his  worn,  desponding  face, 
"  to  find  that  you  are  not  crushed  by  my  avowal 
of  poverty." 

"  The  thought  of  work  exhilarates  me,"  the 
younger  proudly  returned. 

"  We  Brothertofts  have  always  needed  the 
goad  of  necessity,"  said  the  senior,  in  apology 
for  himself  and  his  race. 

"Now,  then,  necessity  shall  make  us  ac- 
quainted with  success.  I  will  win  it.  You 
shall  share  it." 

"  In  the  spirit,  not  in  the  body.  But  we  will 
not  speak  of  that.  Where  will  you  seek  your 
success,  here  or  there  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  Vandyck's  group  of  the  Parlia- 
mentary Colonel  and  his  family.  The  forefather 
looked  kindly  down  upon  his  descendants.  Each 
of  them  closely  resembled  that  mild,  heroic  gen- 
tleman. 

"  Here  or  in  the  land  of  our  ancestors  ?  "  the 
father  continued.  "  Your  generation  has  tho 


22  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

choice.  No  other  will.  These  dull,  deboshed 
Hanoverians  on  the  throne  of  England  will 
crowd  us  to  revolution,  as  the  Stuarts  did  the 
mother  country." 

"  Then  Westchester  may  need  a  Brothertoft, 
as  Lincolnshire  did,"  cries  Edwin,  ardently.  His 
face  flushed,  his  eye  kindled,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
Colonel,  in  the  vigor  of  youth,  had  stepped  down 
from  the  canvas. 

His  father  was  thrilled.  A  life  could  not  name 
itself  wasted  which  had  passed  to  such  a  son. 

"  But  let  us  not  be  visionary,  my  boy,"  he  went 
on  more  quietly,  and  with  weak  doubts  of  the 
wisdom  of  enthusiasm.  "  England  offers  a  bril- 
liant career  to  one  of  your  figure,  your  manners, 
and  your  talents.  Our  friends  there  do  not  for- 
get us,  as  you  know,  for  all  our  century  of  rusti- 
cation here.  When  I  am  gone,  and  the  Manor 
is  gone,  you  will  have  not  one  single  tie  of  prop- 
erty or  person  in  America." 

"  I  love  England,"  said  Edwin,  "  I  love  Ox- 
ford ;  the  history,  the  romance,  and  the  hope  of 
England  are  all  packed  into  that  grand  old 
casket  of  learning ;  but "  —  and  he  turned  to- 
wards the  portrait  —  "  the  Colonel  embarked  us 
on  the  continent.  He  would  frown  if  we  gave 
up  the  great  ship  and  took  to  the  little  pinnace 
again." 

Clearly  the  young  gentlemen  was  not  Angli- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  23 

cizod.  He  went  on  gayly  to  say,  "  that  he  knew 
the  big  ship  was  freighted  with  pine  lumber, 
and  manned  by  Indians,  while  the  pinnace  was 
crammed  with  jewels,  and  had  a  king  to  steer 
and  peers  to  pull  the  halyards  ;  but  still  he  was 
of  a  continent,  Continental  in  all  his  ideas  and 
fancies,  and  could  not  condescend  to  be  an 
Islander." 

Then  the  gentlemen  continued  to  discuss  his 
decision  in  a  lively  tone,  and  to  scheme  pleas- 
antly for  the  future.  They  knew  that  gravity 
would  bring  them  straightway  to  sadness. 

Sadness  must  come.  Both  perceived  that  this 
meeting  was  the  first  in  a  series  of  farewells. 

Daily  interviews  of  farewell  slowly  led  the 
father  and  the  son  to  their  hour  of  final  parting. 

How  tenderly  this  dear  paternal  and  filial  love 
deepened  in  those  flying  weeks  of  winter.  The 
dying  man  felt  his  earthly  being  sweetly  com- 
pleted by  his  son's  affection.  His  had  been  a 
somewhat  lonely  life.  The  robust  manners  of 
his  compeers  among  the  Patroons  had  repelled 
him.  The  early  death  of  his  wife  had  depressed 
and  isolated  him.  No  great  crisis  had  happened 
to  arouse  and  nerve  the  decaying  gentleman. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  I  should  not  have  ac- 
cepted a  merely  negative  life,  if  your  mother  had 
been  with  me  to  ripen  my  brave  purposes  into 
stout  acts.  Love  is  the  impelling  force  of  life. 


24  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Love  wisely,  my  son !  lest  your  career  be  worse 
than  failure,  a  hapless  ruin  and  defeat." 

These  boding  words  seemed  spoken  with  the 
clairvoyance  of  a  dying  man.  They  were  the 
father's  last  warnings. 

The  first  mild  winds  of  March  melted  the 
snow  from  the  old  graveyard  of  Brothertoft  Manor 
on  a  mount  overlooking  the  river.  There  was 
but  a  little  drift  to  scrape  away  from  the  vault 
door  when  they  came  to  lay  Edwin  Brother- 
toft,  fourth  of  that  name,  by  the  side  of  his  an- 
cestors. 


IV. 

FOUR  great  Patroons  came  to  honor  their  peer's 
funeral. 

These  were  Van  Cortlandt,  Phillipse  with  his 
son-in-law  Beverley  Robinson,  from  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  Livingston  from  above  the  High- 
lands. 

They  saw  their  old  friend's  coffin  to  its  damp 
shelf,  and  then  walked  up  to  the  manor-house 
for  a  slice  of  the  funeral  baked  meats  and  a  liba- 
tion to  the  memory  of  the  defunct. 

A  black  servant  carved  and  uncorked  for 
them.  He  had  the  grand  air,  and  wielded  knife 
and  corkscrew  with  dignity.  Voltaire  the  gen- 
tlemen called  him.  He  seemed  proud  to  bear 
the  name  of  that  eminent  destructive. 

The  guests  ate  their  fat  and  lean  with  good 
appetite.  Then  they  touched  glasses,  and  sighed 
over  another  of  their  order  gone. 

"  The  property  is  all  eaten  up  with  mortgages, 
I  hear,"  says  Phillipse,  with  an  appropriate  dole- 
ful tone. 

"  Billop    swallows    the    whole,    the    infernal 


26  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

usurer  ' ''  Van  Cortlandt  rejoined,  looking  lugu- 
briously at  his  fellows,  and  then  cheerfully  at  his 
glass. 

"  He 's  too  far  gone  to  swallow  anything.  The 
Devil  has  probably  got  him  by  this  time.  He 
was  dying  three  days  ago,"  said  Beverley  Rob- 
inson. 

"Handsome  Jane  Billop  will  be  our  great 
heiress,"  Livingston  in  turn  remarked.  "  Let 
your  daughters  look  to  their  laurels,  Phillipse  !  " 

"  My  daughters,  sir,  do  not  enter  the  lists  with 
such  people." 

"  Come,  gentlemen,"  jolly  Van  Cortlandt  in- 
terjected, "  another  glass,  and  good  luck  to  our 
young  friend  here  !  I  wish  he  would  join  us ; 
but  I  suppose  the  poor  boy  must  have  out  his 
cry  alone.  What  can  we  do  for  him?  We 
must  stand  by  our  order." 

"  I  begin  to  have  some  faith  in  the  order," 
says  Livingston,  "  when  it  produces  such  '  preux 
chevaliers '  as  he.  What  can  we  do  for  him  ? 
Take  him  for  your  second  son-in-law,  Phillipse ! 
The  lovely  Mary  is  still  heart-whole,  I  believe. 
Our  strapping  young  friend  from  Virginia,  Mas- 
ter George  Washington,  has  caracoled  off,  with 
a  tear  in  his  eye  and  a  flea  in  his  ear.  Slice  off 
twenty  or  thirty  thousand  acres  from  your 
manor,  marry  these  young  people,  and  set  them 
up.  You  are  too  rich  for  our  latitude  and  our 
era." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  27 

Mr.  Adolphus  Phillipse  was  a  slow  coach. 
The  other's  banter  teased  him. 

"  Mr.  Livingston,"  he  began,  swelling  and 
growing  red. 

"  Coine,  gentlemen,"  cries  Van  Cortlandt,  pa- 
cificator, "  I  have  a  capital  plan  for  young  Broth- 
ertoft." 

"  What  ?  "  Omnes  inquire. 

"  He  must  marry  Jane  Billop." 

"Ay,  he  must  marry  Jane  Billop,"  Omnes 
rejoin. 

"  A  glass  to  it !  "  cried  the  proposer. 

"  Glasses  round ! "  the  seconders  echo,  with 
subdued  enthusiasm. 

"  A  beauty !  "  says  Van  Cortlandt,  clinking 
with  Phillipse. 

"  An  heiress  !  "  says  Phillipse,  clinking  on. 

"  An  orphan  and  only  child !  "  says  Robinson, 
touching  glasses  with  his  neighbor. 

"  Sweet  sixteen  ! "  says  Livingston,  blowing  a 
kiss,  and  completing  the  circle  of  clink. 

These  jolly  boys,  old  and  young,  were  of  a 
tribe  on  its  way  to  extinction,  with  th.,  painted 
sagamores  of  tribes  before  them.  First  came 
the  red  nomad,  striding  over  the  continent.  In 
time  followed  the  great  Patroon,  sprawling  over 
all  the  acres  of  a  county.  Finally  arrives  the 
unembarrassed  gentleman  of  our  time,  nomad  in 
youth,  settler  at  maturity,  but  bound  to  no  spa*. 


28  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

and  cribbed  iu  no  habitation  ;  and  always  packed 
to  move,  with  a  brain  full  of  wits  and  a  pocket 
full  of  coupons. 

The  four  proprietors  finished  their  libations 
and  sent  for  Edwin  to  say  good-bye.  His  deep 
grief  made  any  suggestion  of  their  marriage 
Bcheme  an  impertinence. 

Jolly  Van  Cortlandt  longed  to  lay  his  hand 
kindly  on  the  young  man's  shoulder  and  say, 
"  Don't  grieve,  my  boy !  '  Omnes  moriar,'  as  we 
used  to  say  at  school.  Come,  let  me  tell  you 
about  a  happy  marriage  we  've  planned  for 
you ! " 

Indeed,  he  did  arrange  this  little  speech  in 
his  mind,  and  consulted  Livingston  on  its  de- 
livery. 

"  Let  him  alone  !  "  said  that  '  magister  mo- 
rum.'  "  You  know  as  much  of  love  as  of  Lat- 
in. The  match  is  clearly  made  in  heaven.  It 
will  take  care  of  itself.  He  shall  have  my  good 
word  with  the  lady,  and  wherever  else  he  wants 
it.  I  love  a  gentleman." 

"  So  do  I,  naturally,"  Yan  says,  and  he  gave 
the  youth  honored  with  this  fair  title  a  cordial 
invitation  to  his  Manor. 

The  others  also  offered  their  houses,  hearths, 
and  hearts,  sincerely;  and  then  mounted  and 
rode  off  on  their  several  prosperous  and  cheerful 
ways. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  29 

Meanwhile,  a  group  of  the  tenants  of  the  Ma- 
nor, standing  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  vault,  had 
been  discussing  the  late  lord  and  the  prospects 
of  his  successor.  As  the  elders  talked,  their 
sons  and  heirs  played  leap-frog  over  the  tomb- 
stones, puffed  out  their  cheeks  to  rival  the  cher- 
ubs over  the  compliments  in  doggerel  on  the 
slabs,  and  spelled  through  the  names  of  extinct 
Lincolnshire  families,  people  of  slow  lungs,  who 
had  not  kept  up  with  the  fast  climate. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  lost  a  brother,"  said  Squire 
Jierck  Dewitt,  the  chief  personage  among  the 
tenantry. 

"  A  fine  malm,  he  was !  "  pronounced  Isaac 
Van  Wart,  through  a  warty  nose.  "  But  not 
spry  enough,  —  not  spry  enough  !  " 

"  Anybody  could  cheat  him,"  says  lean  Hen- 
drecus  Canady,  the  root  and  Indian  doctor,  who 
knew  his  fact  by  frequent  personal  experiments. 

"  Who  'd  want  to  cheat  a  man  that  was  every- 
body's friend  ? "  asked  old  Sam  Galsworthy's 
hearty  voice. 

"  The  boy  's  a  thorough  Brothertoft,  mild  as  a 
lamb  and  brave  as  a  lion,"  Dewitt  continued. 
"  But  I  don't  like  to  think  of  his  being  flung  on 
the  world  so  young." 

"  He  can  go  down  to  York  and  set  up  a  news- 
paper," Van  Wart  suggested. 

"  If  I  was  him,  I  'd  put  in  for  Squire  Billop's 


30  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

gal,  and  have  easy  times."  This  was  the  root 
doctor's  plan. 

"  Well,  if  he  ever  wants  a  hundred  pounds," 
says  Galsworthy,  —  "ay,  or  five  hundred,  for 
that  matter,  —  he  's  only  got  to  put  his  hand 
into  my  pocket." 

"You  can't  put  your  own  hand  in,  without 
wrastlin'  a  good  deal,"  Van  Wart  says. 

Sam  laughed,  and  tried.  But  he  was  too 
paunchy. 

"  I  'm  a  big  un,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  was  a  little 
un  when  I  got  back  from  that  scalpin'  trip  to 
Canada,  when  Horse-Beef  Billop  was  Commis- 
sary. I  did  n't  weigh  more  'n  the  Injun  doctor 
here ;  and  he,  and  that  boy  he  feeds  on  yaller 
pills,  won't  balance  eight  stone  together.  It 's 
bad  stock,  is  the  Billop.  I  hope  our  young  man 
and  the  Colonel's  gal  won't  spark  up  to  each 
other." 

It  was  growing  dusk.  The  dead  man's  R.  1. 
P.  had  been  pronounced,  and  the  youth's  '  Perge 
puer!"  The  tenants,  members  of  a  class  pres- 
ently to  become  extinguished  with  the  Patroons, 
marched  off  toward  the  smokes  that  signalled 
their  suppers.  The  sons  dismounted  from  the 
tombstones  and  followed.  Each  of  them  is  his 
father,  in  boy  form.  They  prance  off,  exercising 
their  muscles  to  pull  their  pound,  by  and  by,  at 
the  progress  of  this  history.  Old  Sam  Galswor- 


EDWIN    BROTHERTOFT.  81 

thy  junior  has  hard  work  to  keep  up  with  tho 
others,  on  account  of  his  back  load.  He  carries 
on  his  shoulders  little  Hendrecus  Canady,  a 
bolus-fed  fellow,  his  father's  corpus  vile  to  try 
nostrums  upon. 

And  Edwin  Brothertoft  sat  alone  in  his  lonely 
home,  —  his  home  no  more. 

Lonely,  lonely ! 

A  blank  by  the  fireside,  where  his  father  used 
to  sit.  A  blank  in  the  chamber,  where  he  lay  so 
many  days,  drifting  slowly  out  of  life.  Silence 
now,  —  silence,  which  those  feeble  words  of  affec- 
tion, those  mild  warnings,  those  earnest  prayers, 
those  trailing  whispers  low  from  dying  lips,  would 
never  faintly  break  again.  No  dear  hand  to 
press.  No  beloved  face  to  watch  sleeping,  until 
it  woke  into  a  smile.  No  face,  no  touch,  no 
voice  ;  only  a  want  and  an  absence  in  that  lonely 
home. 

And  if,  in  some  dreamy  moment,  the  son 
seemed  to  see  the  dear  form  steal  back  to  its 
accustomed  place  and  the  dear  face  appear,  the 
features  wore  an  eager,  yet  a  disappointed  look. 
So  much  to  say,  that  now  could  never  be  said ! 
How  the  father  seemed  to  long  to  recover  human 
accents,  and  urge  fresh  warnings  against  the 
passions  that  harm  the  life  and  gnaw  the  soul, 
or  to  reveal  some  unknown  error  sadder  than 
a  sin. 


32  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

And  sometimes,  too,  that  vision  of  the  father's 
countenance,  faint  against  a  background  of  twi- 
light, was  tinged  with  another  sorrow,  and  the 
son  thought,  "  He  died,  and  never  knew  how 
thorouglily  I  loved  him.  Did  I  ever  neglect 
him  ?  Was  I  ever  cold  or  careless  ?  That  sad 
face  seems  to  mildly  reproach  me  with  some 
cruel  slight." 

The  lonely  house  grew  drearier  and  drearier. 

"  Colonel  Billop,"  wrote  Mr.  Skaats,  his  agent 
and  executor,  "has  been  removed  by  an  all-wise 
Providence.  Under  the  present  circumstances, 
Mr.  Brothertoft,  I  do  not  wish  to  disturb  you. 
But  I  should  be  glad  to  take  possession  at  the 
Manor  at  your  earliest  convenience. 
"  Respectfully,  &c., 

"  SKEBVEY  SKAATS." 

Everything,  even  the  priceless  portrait  of  the 
Puritan  Colonel,  was  covered  by  the  mortgages. 
Avarice  had  licked  them  all  over  with  its  slime, 
and  gaped  to  bolt  the  whole  at  a  meal. 

Edwin  did  not  wish  to  see  a  Skervey  Skaats 
at  work  swallowing  the  family  heirlooms.  He 
invited  Squire  Dewitt  to  act  for  him  with  the 
new  proprietor's  representative. 

New  York,  by  that  time,  had  become  a  thriving 
little  town.  The  silt  of  the  stream  of  corn  that 
flowed  down  the  Hudson  was  enriching  it.  Ed- 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  33 

win  had  brave  hopes  of  making  at  least  his  daily 
bread  there  with  his  brains  or  his  hands. 

While  he  was  preparing  to  go,  Old  Sam  Gals- 
worthy appeared  with  a  bag  of  guineas  and  a  fine 
white  mare  of  the  famous  Lincolnshire  stock,  — 
such  a  mare  as  Colonel  Brothertoft  used  to  ride, 
and  Prince  Rupert's  men  to  run  from. 

"  Squire  Dewitt  told  me  you  were  going  to 
trudge  to  York,"  said  Sam. 

"  I  was,"  replied  the  orphan ;  "  my  legs  will 
take  me  there  finely." 

"  It  was  in  my  lease,"  said  Sam,  "  to  pay  a 
mare-colt  every  year  over  and  above  my  rent, 
besides  a  six-year-old  mare  for  a  harriet,  when- 
ever the  new  heir  came  in." 

"  Heriot,  I  suppose  you  mean,  Sam." 

"  We  call  'em  heriots  when  they  're  horses, 
and  harriets  when  they  're  mares.  Well,  your 
father  would  n't  take  the  colts  since  twelve  year. 
He  said  he  was  agin  tribute,  and  struck  the  colts 
and  the  harriets  all  out  of  my  lease.  So  I  put 
the  price  of  a  colt  aside  for  him  every  year,  in 
case  hard  times  come.  There  's  twelve  colts  in 
this  buckskin  bag,  and  this  mare  is  the  token 
that  I  count  you  the  rightful  owner  of  my  farm 
and  the  whole  Manor.  I  've  changed  her  name 
to  Harriet,  bein'  one.  She  's  a  stepper,  as  any 
man  can  see  with  half  a  blinker.  The  dollars 
and  the  beast  is  yourn,  Mister  Edwin." 

2*  o 


34  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Edwin  shook  his  head.  "  You  are  very  kind, 
Sam ;  but  I  am  my  father's  son,  and  against 
tribute  in  any  form." 

"  I  have  n't  loved  your  father  forty  year  to 
see  his  son  go  afoot.  Ride  the  mare  down,  any- 
how. She  don't  get  motion  enough,  now  that 
I  'm  too  heavy  for  her,  bein'  seventeen  stone 
three  pound  and  a  quarter  with  my  coat  off." 

Edwin's  pride  melted  under  this  loyalty. 

"I  will  ride  her  then,  Sam,  and  thank  you. 
And  give  me  a  luck-penny  out  of  the  bag." 

"  You  '11  not  take  the  whole  ? "  pleaded  Gals- 
worthy. 

No.  And  when  the  root-doctor  heard  this,  he 
stood  Hendrecus  Canady  junior  in  a  receptive 
position,  and  dosed  him  with  a  bolus  of  wisdom, 
as  follows :  — 

"  Men  is  divided  into  three  factions.  Them 
that  grabs  their  chances.  Them  that  chucks 
away  their  chances.  And  them  that  lets  their 
chances  slide.  The  Brothertofts  have  alluz  ben 
of  the  lettin'-slide  faction.  This  one  has  jined 
the  Chuckin'-Aways.  He  '11  never  come  to 
nothin'.  You  just  swaller  that  remark,  my  son, 
and  keep  a  digestin'  of  it,  if  you  want  to  come 
to  anything  yourself." 

Next  morning  Edwin  took  leave  of  home,  and 
sorrowfully  rode  away. 

A  harsh,  loud  March  wind  chased  him,  blow- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  35 

ing  Harriet  Heriot's  tail  between  her  legs.     The 
omens  were  bad. 

But  when,  early  the  second  morning,  the  or- 
phan crossed  King's  Bridge,  and  trod  the  island 
of  his  new  career,  a  Gulf  Stream  wind,  smelling 
of  bananas  and  soundiug  of  palm-leaves,  met 
him,  breathing  welcome  and  success. 


V. 


WITH  youth,  good  looks,  an  English  educa- 
tion, the  manners  and  heart  of  a  gentleman,  and 
the  Puritan  Colonel's  sword,  Edwin  Brothertoft 
went  to  New  York  to  open  his  oyster. 

"Hushed  in  grim  repose,"  the  world,  the 
oyster,  lay  with  its  lips  tight  locked  against  the 
brutal  oyster-knives  of  blackguards. 

But  at  our  young  blade's  first  tap  on  the  shell 
the  oyster  gaped. 

How  pleasant  it  is  to  a  youth  when  his  oyster 
gapes,  and  indolently  offers  him  the  succulent 
morsel  within !  His  oyster  is  always  uneasy  at 
the  hinge  until  it  is  generously  open  for  an  Ed- 
win Brothertoft.  He  was  that  fine  rarity,  a 
thorough  gentleman. 

How  rare  they  were  then,  and  are  now !  rare 
as  great  poets,  great  painters,  great  seers,  great 
doers.  The  fingers  of  my  right  hand  seem  too 
many  when  I  begin  to  number  off  the  thorough 
gentlemen  of  my  own  day.  But  were  I  ten 
times  Briareus,  did  another  hand  sprout  when- 
ever I  wanted  a  new  tally,  I  never  could  count 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  37 

the  thorough  blackguards  among  my  contempo- 
raries. So  much  shade  does  it  take  to  make 
sunshine ! 

The  Colonial  world  gave  attention  when  it 
heard  a  young  Brothertoft  was  about  to  descend 
into  the  arena  and  wrestle  for  life. 

"  So  that  is  he ! "  was  the  cry.  "  How 
handsome !  how  graceful !  how  chivalrous !  how 
brilliant !  what  a  bow  he  makes !  his  manners 
disarm  every  antagonist !  He  will  not  take  ad- 
vantages, they  say.  He  is  generous,  and  has 
visionary  notions  about  fair  play.  He  thinks  a 
beaten  foe  should  not  be  trampled  on  or  scalped. 
He  thinks  enemies  ought  to  be  forgiven,  and 
friends  to  be  sustained,  through  thick  and  thin. 
Well,  well!  such  fancies  are  venial  errors  in  a 
young  aristocrat." 

The  city  received  him  as  kindly  as  it  does  the 
same  manner  of  youth  now,  when  its  population 
has  increased  one  hundred-fold. 

The  chief  lawyer  said,  "  Come  into  my  office 
and  copy  papers,  at  a  pound  a  week,  and  in  a 
year  you  will  be  a  Hortensius." 

The  chief  merchant  said,  "  If  you  like  the 
smell  of  rum,  codfish,  and  beaver-skins,  take  a 
place  in  my  counting-house,  at  a  hundred  pounds 
a  year,  and  correct  the  spelling  of  my  letters. 
*  promise  nothing;  but  I  may  want  a  partner 
vxy  and  by." 


386909 


38  EDWIN  BKOTHEBTOFT. 

The  Governor  of  the  Province  and  Mayor  of 
the  town,  dullards,  as  officials  are  wont  to  be, 
each  took  the  young  gentleman  aside,  and  said, 
*'  Here  is  a  proclamation  of  mine !  Now  punctuate 
it,  and  put  in  some  fine  writing,  —  about  Greece 
and  Rome,  you  know,  and  Magna  Charta,  with 
a  Latin  quotation  or  two,  —  and  I  will  find  you 
a  fat  job  and  plenty  of  pickings!" 

The  Livingston  party  proposed  to  him  to  go 
to  the  Assembly  on  their  votes  and  fight  the 
De  Lanceys.  The  De  Lanceys,  in  turn,  said, 
"  Represent  us,  and  talk  those  radical  Living- 
stons down." 

Lord  Loudon,  Commander-in-Chief,  swore  that 
Brothertoft  was  the  only  gentleman  he  had  seen 
among  the  dashed  Provincials.  "  And,"  says  he, 
"  you  speak  Iroquois  and  French,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  Be  my  secretary,  and  I  '11  get  you 
a  commission  in  the  army,  —  dashed  if  I  don't !  " 

King's  College,  just  established,  to  increase  the 
baker's  doze'n  of  educated  men  in  the  Colony, 
offered  the  young  Oxonian  a  professorship,  Meta- 
physics, Mathematics,  Languages,  Belles-Lettres, 
—  in  fact  whatever  he  pleased ;  none  of  the 
Trustees  knew  them  apart. 

Indeed,  the  Provincial  world  prostrated  itself 
before  this  fortunate  youth  and  prayed  him, — 

"  Be  the  representative  Young  American ! 
Convince  our  unappreciative  Mother  England : 


EDWIN   BKOTIIERTOFT.  39 

"  That  we  do  not  talk  through  our  noses ; 

"  That  our  language  is  not  lingo ; 

"  That  we  are  not  slaves  of  the  Almighty 
Wampum ; 

"  That  we  can  produce  the  Finest. Gentlemen, 
as  well  as  the  Biggest  Lakes,  the  Longest  Rivers, 
the  Vastest  Antres,  and  the  Widest  Wildernesses 
in  the  World." 

What  an  oyster-bed,  indeed,  surrounded  our 
hero ! 

Alas  for  him!    He  presently  found  a  Pearl. 


VI. 

HANDSOME  Jane  Billop  wanted  a  husband. 

She  looked  into  the  glass,  and  saw  Beauty. 
Into  the  schedules  of  her  father's  will,  and  saw 
Heiress. 

She  determined  to  throw  her  handkerchief,  as 
soon  as  she  could  discover  the  right  person  to 
pick  it  up. 

"  He  must  belong  to  a  great  family,"  thought 
the  young  lady.  "  He  must  promise  me  to  be 
a  great  man.  He  must  love  me  to  distraction. 
I  hate  the  name  of  Billop !  I  should  look  lovely 
in  a  wedding-dress !  " 

She  was  very  young,  very  premature,  mother- 
less, the  daughter  and  companion  of  a  coarse 
man  who  had  basely  made  a  great  fortune.  Rich 
rogues  always  fancy  that  their  children  will  in- 
herit only  the  wealth,  and  none  of  the  sin.  They 
are  shocked  when  the  paternal  base  metal  crops 
out  at  some  new  vein  in  their  progeny.  Better 
not  embezzle  and  oppress,  papa,  if  you  wish 
your  daughters  to  be  pure  and  your  sons  honest ! 
Colonel  Billop  did  not  live  to  know  what  kind 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  41 

of  an  heiress  he  and  his  merciless  avarice  had 
fathered. 

"  I  must  see  this  young  Brothertoft,"  Jane's 
revery  continued.  "  Poor  fellow,  I  have  got  all 
his  property !  Mr.  Skaats  says  he  is  a  very  dis- 
tinguished young  gentleman,  and  will  be  one  of 
the  first  men  of  the  Province.  Handsome  too, 
and  knows  lords  and  ladies  in  England !  Let 
me  see !  I  cannot  meet  him  anywhere  so  soon 
after  the  funeral.  But  he  might  call  on  me, 
about  business.  I  feel  so  lonely  and  solemn ! 
And  I  do  not  seem  to  have  any  friends.  Every- 
body courts  me  for  my  money,  and  yet  they  look 
down  upon  me  too,  because  my  father  made  his 
own  fortune." 

Colonel  Billop  had  taken  much  pains  to  teach 
his  daughter  business  habits,  and  instruct  her  in 
all  the  details  of  management  of  property. 

She  sat  down  at  her  desk,  and  in  a  bold  round 
hand  indited  the  following  note  :  — 

"  Mr.  Skaats,  Miss  Billop's  agent,  begs  that 
Mr.  Brothertoft  will  do  him  the  favor  to  call  at 
the  house  in  Wall  Street  to-morrow  at  eleven. 
Mr.  Skaats  is  informed  that  there  is  a  picture  at 
the  Manor-House  which  Mr.  Brothertoft  values, 
and  he  would  be  pleased  to  make  an  arrange- 
ment for  the  late  owner's  retaining  it." 

Skilful  Jane !  to  whom  a  Yandyck  was  less 
worth  than  its  length  and  breadth  in  brocade, 


42  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

She  sealed  this  note  with  Colonel  Billop's  frank 
motto,  "  Per  omnia  ad  opes,"  and  despatched  it. 

Edwin  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  re- 
covering his  ancestor.  It  is  a  mighty  influence 
when  the  portrait  of  a  noble  forefather  puts  its 
eye  on  one  who  wears  his  name,  and  says,  by  the 
language  of  an  unchanging  look :  "  I  was  a  Radi- 
cal in  my  day ;  be  thou  the  same  in  thine !  I 
turned  my  back  upon  the  old  tyrannies  and 
heresies,  and  struck  for  the  new  liberties  and 
beliefs ;  my  liberty  and  belief  are  doubtless  al- 
ready tyranny  and  heresy  to  thine  age ;  strike 
thou  for  the  new !  I  worshipped  the  purest  God 
of  my  generation,  —  it  may  be  that  a  purer  God 
is  revealed  to  thine ;  worship  him  with  thy  whole 
heart." 

Such  a  monitor  is  priceless.  Edwin  was  in  a 
very  grateful  mood  when  he  knocked  at  the  door 
in  Wall  Street. 

A  bank  now  rests  upon  the  site  of  the  Billop 
mansion.  Ponderous,  grim,  granite,  stand  the 
two  columns  of  its  pro  pylon.  A  swinging  door 
squeaks  "  Hail !  "  to  the  prosperous  lender,  and 
"Avaunt!"  to  the  borrower  unindorsed.  Within, 
paying  tellers,  old  and  crusty,  or  young  and 
jaunty,  stand,  up  to  their  elbows  in  gold,  and 
smile  at  the  offended  dignity  of  personages  not 
identified  presenting  checks,  and  in  vain  requir- 
ing payment.  Farther  back  depositors  are  feed- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  43 

ing  money,  soft  and  hard,  into  the  maw  of  the 
receiving  teller.  Behind  him,  book-keepers  wield 
prodigious  ledgers,  and  run  up  and  down  their 
columns,  agile  as  the  lizards  of  Psestum.  And 
in  the  innermost  penetralia  of  that  temple  of 
Plutus,  the  High-Priests,  old  Dons  of  Directors 
worth  billions,  sit  and  fancy  that  they  brew  crisis 
or  credit. 

So  stand  things  now  where  Edwin  Brothertoft 
once  stood  contemplating  a  brass  knocker. 

The  door  opened,  and  he  was  presently  intro- 
duced into  a  parlor,  upholstered  to  the  upper- 
most of  its  era. 

But  where  is  Mr.  Skervey  Skaats  ? 

Instead  of  that  mean  and  meagre  agent,  here 

is  the  principal,  —  a  singularly  handsome,  bold, 

resolute   young  woman,  her   exuberant   beauty 

^pressed   and    her  carnations    toned   down  by 

mourning. 

Both  the  young  people  were  embarrassed  for  a 
moment. 

He  was  embarrassed  at  this  unlooked-for  sub- 
stitution of  a  beautiful  girl  for  an  ugly  reptile  of 
a  Skaats ;  and  she  to  find  how  fair  a  spirit  she 
had  conjured  up.  He  with  a  sudden  compunc- 
tion for  the  prejudice  he  had  had  against  the 
unknown  heir,  his  disinheritor ;  and  she  with  her 
instant  conviction  that  here  was  the  person  to 
pick  up  her  handkerchief,  if  he  would. 


44  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Shall  the  talk  of  these  children  be  here  re« 
peated  ?  It  .might  fill  a  pleasant  page  ;  but  this 
history  cannot  deal  with  the  details  of  their  im- 
mature lives.  It  only  makes  ready,  in  this  First 
Act,  for  the  rapid  business  of  a  riper  period. 

When  Edwin  Brothertoft  left  the  heiress's  par- 
lor, after  sixty  minutes  of  delight,  she  seated 
herself  at  the  desk  where  she,  under  the  alias 
Skaats,  had  indited  his  invitation,  took  a  fresh 
sheet  of  paper  and  a  virgin  quill,  and  wrote :  — 

Jane  Brothertoft. 

Then  the  same  in  backhand,  with  flourishes  and 
without.  Then  she  printed,  in  big  text :  — 

LADY  JANE  BROTHERTOFT,  OF  BROTHERTOFT  HALL. 

Then,  with  a  conscious,  defiant  look,  she  carried 
her  prophetic  autograph  to  the  fire,  and  watched 
it  burn. 

Over  the  fireplace  was  a  mirror,  districted  in- 
to three  parts  by  gilded  mullions.  Above  was 
perched  a  gilt  eagle,  a  very  rampant  high-flier 
indeed.  Two  wreaths  of  onions,  in  the  disguise 
of  pomegranates,  were  festooned  from  his  beak, 
and  hung  in  alluring  masses  on  either  side  of 
the  frame.  Quite  a  regiment  of  plump  little 
cherubs,  clad  in  gilding,  tight  as  it  could  fit, 
clung  in  the  wreaths,  and  sniffed  at  their  fra- 
grance. Jane  looked  up  and  saw  herself  in  the 
mirror.  A  blush  deepened  her  somewhat  carnal 


EDWIN   BEOTHERTOFT.  45 

earnations.  Every  cherub  seemed  to  be  laugh- 
ing significantly.  She  made  a  face  at  the  merry 
imps.  As  she  did  so,  she  caught  sight  of  the  re- 
flection of  her  father's  portrait,  also  regarding 
her.  He  was  such  a  father  as  a  child  would 
have  been  quite  justified  in  disowning  and  ut- 
terly cutting,  if  a  stranger  had  asked,  "  Who  is 
that  horrid  person  with  the  red  face,  the  coarse 
jowl,  the  permanent  leer,  and  cruel  look  ?  "  An 
artist,  cunning  in  red  for  the  face  and  white  for 
the  ruffles,  had  made  this  personage  more  butch- 
erly even  than  Nature  intended. 

Jane  Billop  marched  up  to  the  portrait,  and 
turned  it  with  its  face  toward  the  wall. 

"  He  need  n't  look  at  me,  and  tell  me  I  am 
courting  Mr.  Edwin  Brothertoft,"  she  said  to 
herself.  "  I  know  I  am,  and  I  mean  to  have 
him.  He  is  lovely ;  but  I  almost  hate  him.  He 
makes  me  feel  ignorant  and  coarse  and  mean. 
I  don't  want  to  be  the  kind  of  woman  he  has 
been  talking  to  with  that  deferential  address. 
But  I  suppose  this  elegant  manner  is  all  put  on, 
and  he  is  really  just  like  other  people.  He  seems 
to  be  pretty  confident  of  carrying  the  world  be- 
fore him.  We  shall  be  the  great  people  of  the 
Province.  Here  comes  the  distinguished  Sir  Ed- 
win Brothertoft,  and  Lady  Jane,  his  magnificent 
wife  !  People  shall  not  pretend  to  look  down 
upon  me  any  more,  because  my  father  knew  how 


46  EDWIN  BEOTHERTOFT. 

to  make  money,  when  fools  threw  it  away.  I  've 
got  a  Manor,  too,  Miss  Mary  Phillipse  ;  and  I  'm 
handsomer  than  you,  and  not  almost  an  old  maid. 
That  little  chit  of  a  Mayor  Cruger's  daughter's 
had  better  not  try  to  patronize  me  again,  nor 
Julia  Peartree  Smith  turn  up  her  poor  pug  nose. 
They  '11  all  want  invitations  to  Mrs.  Brothertoft's 
ball  on  going  out  of  mourning.  How  they  will 
envy  me  my  Edwin !  What  a  beautiful  bow  he 
makes !  What  a  beautiful  voice  he  has !  June  is 
a  lovely  month  for  a  wedding." 

There  is  never  joy  in  Wall  Street  now  such  as 
filled  the  heart  of  Edwin  Brothertoft  on  that 
morning  of  a  bygone  century.  The  Billops  of 
our  time  live  a  league  up  town,  and  plot  on  Mur- 
ray Hill  for  lovers  of  good  family. 

Edwin  had  found  his  Pearl, —  a  glorious,  flash- 
ing Ruby  rather.  Its  gleam  exhilarated  him. 
His  heart  and  his  heels  were  so  light,  that  he  felt 
as  if  he  could  easily  spring  to  the  top  of  the  spire 
of  Old  Trinity,  which  was  at  least  a  hundred  feet 
lower  than  the  crocketty  structure  now  pointing 
the  moral  of  Wall  Street.  He  walked  away  from 
Miss  Billop's  door  in  a  maze  of  delight,  too  much 
bewildered  by  this  sudden  bliss  to  think  of  ana- 
lyzing it. 

So  the  young  payee,  whose  papa's  liberal  check 
for  his  quarter's  allowance  has  just  been  cashed, 
may  climb  from  the  bank  on  the  site  of  the  Billop 


EDWIN   BROTHEBTOFT.  47 

house,  as  far  as  Broadway,  content  with  the  joy 
of  having  tin,  without  desiring  to  tinkle  it. 

But  at  the  corner  Edwin's  heart  began  to  speak 
to  him  with  sentiments  and  style  quite  different 
from  the  lady's. 

"  How  she  startled  me  with  her  brilliant  beau- 
ty !  How  kind  it  was  to  think  of  my  valuing  the 
portrait!  How  generously  and  how  delicately 
she  offered  it !  And  I  had  done  her  the  injustice 
of  a  prejudice !  That  wrong  I  will  redress  by 
thinking  of  her  henceforth  all  the  more  highly 
and  tenderly. 

"  Poor  child !  a  lonely  orphan  like  myself. 
She  showed  in  all  our  interview  how  much  she 
yearned  for  friendship.  Mine  she  shall  have. 
My  love  ?  yes,  yes,  my  love !  But  that  must 
stay  within  my  secret  heart,  and  never  find  a 
voice  until  I  have  fully  assured  my  future. 

"  And  this  warm  consciousness  of  a  growing 
true  love  shall  keep  me  strong  and  pure  and 
brave.  Thank  God  and  her  for  this  beautiful 
influence !  With  all  the  kindness  I  have  met, 
I  was  still  lonely,  still  desponding.  Now  I  am 
jubilant ;  everything  is  my  friend  and  my  com- 
rade. Yes  ;  ring  out,  gay  bells  of  Trinity  !  What 
is  it  you  are  ringing  ?  A  marriage  ?  Ah,  happy 
husband !  happy  bride  !  I  too  am  of  the  brother- 
hood of  Love.  Ring,  merry  bells  !  Your  songs 
shall  be  of  blissful  omen  to  my  heart." 


VII. 

SUCH  soliloquies  as  those  of  the  last  chapter 
presently  led  to  dialogue  of  the  same  character. 

The  lady  continued  to  scribble  that  brief  ro- 
mance, or  rather  that  title  of  a  romance. 

"  Lady  Jane  Brothertoft  of  Brothertoft  Hall." 

The  lover  for  his  part  was  not  a  dunce.  He 
soon  perceived  that  it  was  his  business  to  supply 
the  situations  and  the  talk  under  this  title,  and 
help  the  plot  to  grow. 

It  grew  with  alarming  rapidity. 

Tulips  were  thrusting  their  green  thumbs 
through  the  ground  in  the  Dutch  gardens  of  the 
town  when  the  young  people  first  met.  Tulips 
had  flaunted  their  day  and  gone  to  green  seed- 
vessels  with  a  little  ruffle  at  the  top,  and  cabbage- 
roses  were  in  young  bud,  when  the  first  act  of 
the  drama  ended. 

The  lady  was  hardly  as  coy  as  Galatea  in  the 
eclogue.  The  lover  might  have  been  repelled 
by  the  large  share  she  took  in  the  courtship. 
But  he  was  a  true,  blind,  eager  young  lover, 
utterly  absorbed  in  a  fanaticism  of  affection. 


EDWIN    BROTIIERTOFT.  49 

Indeed,  if  in  the  tumult  of  his  own  bliss  he  had 
perceived  that  the  lady  was  reaching  beyond 
her  line  to  beckon  him,  this  would  have  seemed 
another  proof  that  she  and  he  were  both  obeying 
a  Divine  mandate.  What  young  lover  disputes 
his  mistress's  right  to  share  the  passion  ? 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said  to  her,  by  and  by, — "  I 
knew  from  the  first  moment  we  met,  that  we 
must  love  one  another.  We  are  perfect  counter- 
parts, —  the  halves  of  a  perfect  whole.  But  you 
the  nobler.  I  felt  from  the  moment  that  pleas- 
ant incident  of  the  portrait  had  brought  us  to- 
gether, that  we  were  to  be  united.  I  hardly 
dared  give  my  hope  words.  But  I  knew  in  my 
heart  that  the  benign  powers  would  not  let  mo 
love  so  earnestly  and  yet  desperately." 

These  fine  fervors  seemed  to  her  a  little  ridic- 
ulous, but  very  pretty.  She  looked  in  the  glass, 
where  the  little  Cupids  in  the  onion-wreaths  were 
listening,  amused  with  Edwin's  rhapsodies,  smiled 
to  herself,  then  smiled  to  him,  and  said,  "  Matches 
are  made  in  heaven." 

"  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "  that  I  had  erased  the 
word  Perhaps  from  my  future.  Now  that  I  am 
in  the  way  to  prosperity  and  distinction  for  my- 
self, and  that  you  smile,  success  offers  itself  to 
me  drolly.  The  Great  Lawyer  proposes  to  me  a 
quadruple  salary,  and  quarters  the  time  in  which 
I  am  to  become  a  Ilortensius.  The  Great  Mer- 


50  EDWIN  BKOTHERTOFT. 

chant  offers  me  three  hundred  a  year  at  once, 
a  certain  partnership,  and  promises  to  abandon 
codfish  and  go  into  more  fragrant  business." 

They  laughed  merrily  over  this.  Small  wit 
wakes  lovers'  glee. 

"  I  like  you  better  in  public  life,"  she  said. 
"  You  must  be  a  great  man  immediately." 

"  Love  me,  and  I  will  be  what  you  love." 

"I  am  so  glad  I  am  rich.  Such  fine  things 
can  be  done  with  money." 

"  I  should  be  terribly  afraid  of  your  wealth, 
if  I  was  not  sure  of  success  on  my  side.  As  it 
is,  we  have  the  power  of  a  larger  usefulness." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  carelessly. 

He  did  not  notice  her  indifferent  manner,  for 
he  had  dashed  into  a  declamation  of  his  high 
hopes  for  his  country  and  his  time.  Those  were 
the  days  when  ardent  youths  were  foreseeing 
Revolution  and  Independence. 

She  did  not  seem  much  interested  in  this 
rhapsody. 

"  I  love  to  hear  you  talk  of  England  and  the 
great  people  you  knew  there,"  said  she.  "  Is 
not  Brothertoft  Manor-House  very  much  like  an 
English  country-seat  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  if  it  were  well  kept  up,  there 
would  be  no  place  so  beautiful  in  England, — 
none  so  grand  by  nature,  I  mean." 

Here    followed    another   rhapsody  from    this 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT  51 

poetic  youth  on  the  Manor  and  its  people,  the 
river  and  the  Highlands. 

She  was  proud  of  her  lover's  eloquence,  al- 
though she  did  not  sympathize  much  in  his 
enthusiasms.  She  had  heard  rivers  talked  of  as 
water-power  or  roads  for  water-carriage.  Moun- 
tains had  been  generally  abused  in  the  Billop 
establishment  as  ungainly  squatters  on  good  soil. 
Forests  were  so  many  feet  of  timber.  Tenants 
were  serfs,  who  could  be  squeezed  to  pay  higher 
rents,  and  ought  to  be  the  slaves  of  their  land- 
lords. 

But  she  listened,  and  felt  complimented  while 
Edwin  painted  the  scenery  of  her  new  piece 
of  property  with  glowing  fancy,  and  while  he 
made  each  of  the  tenants  the  hero  of  a  pastoral 
idyl.  A  manor  that  could  be  so  commended 
must  be  worth  more  money  than  she  had  sup- 
posed. 

"  I  begin  to  long  to  see  it,"  she  said,  with  real 
interest.  "  And  that  dear  old  fat  Sam  Gals- 
worthy, who  lent  you  the  horse,  I  must  thank 
him." 

"  Why  not  go  up,  as  soon  as  June  is  fairly 
begun  ?  M 

"  Mr.  Skaats  would  not  know  all  the  pretty 
places." 

They  looked  at  each  other  an  instant,  —  she 
bold  and  imperious,  he  still  timidly  tender. 


62  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT 

"  If  I  only  dared  !  "  he  said. 

"  Men  always  dare,  do  they  not  ?  "  she  rejoined, 
without  flinching. 

"  Are  you  lonely  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Bitterly,  except  when  you  come.  Are 
you?" 

"  Sadly,  except  when  I  am  with  you." 

Another  exchange  of  looks,  —  she  a  little  soft- 
ened, and  oppressed  with  the  remembrance  of 
the  sudden,  voiceless,  unconscious  death  of  her 
father,  —  he  softened  too,  measuring  her  loss  by 
his,  tenderer  for  her  than  before,  but  not  quite 
so  timid. 

"Both  very  lonely,"  he  continued,  with  a 
smile.  "Two  negatives  make  an  affirmative. 
Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  already  committed  on  that 
subject." 

"  Why  should  we  not  put  our  two  solitudes 
together,  and  make  society  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Skaats  would  be  a  poor  guide  to  Broth- 
ertoft  Manor." 

"  Mr.  Skaats !  "  she  said  impatiently,  as  if  she 
were  dismissing  a  feline  intruder.  "We  were 
not  talking  of  him." 

"  No.  I  was  merely  thinking  I  could  recom- 
mend you  a  better  cicerone." 

"  Who  can  you  possibly  mean  ?  " 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  53 

"  Myself." 

"  Ah ! " 

"  Brothertoft  Manor  would  be  a  lovely  place 
to  spend  a  honeymoon  in." 

"  I  long  to  see  it,  after  your  description." 

"June  there  is  perfection." 

"  June  !  and  this  is  May  !  " 

"  Will  you  go  there  with  me  in  June,  my 
dearest  love  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Edwin." 

It  was  agreed  among  all  the  gossips  of  the 
Province  —  and  the  gossips  were  right  —  that 
this  was  not  a  mercenary  match.  Youth  and 
beauty  on  both  sides,  what  could  be  more  nat- 
ural than  love  and  marriage  ?  And  then  the 
gossips  went  on  to  weigh  the  Brothertoft  name 
against  the  Billop  fortune,  and  to  pronounce  — 
for  New  York  in  those  days  loved  blood  more 
than  wampum  —  that  the  pounds  hardly  bal- 
anced the  pedigree.  Both  parties  were  in  deep 
mourning.  Of  course  there  could  be  no  great 
wedding.  But  all  the  female  quality  of  the 
Province  crowded  to  Trinity  Church  to  see  the 
ceremony.  The  little  boys  cheered  lustily  when 
the  Billop  coach,  one  of  the  three  or  four  in 
town,  brought  its  broadside  to  bear  against  the 
church  porch,  and,  opening  its  door,  inscribed 
with  the  Billop  motto,  "  Per  omnia  ad  opes," 


54  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

discharged  the  blushing  bridegroom  and  his 
bride. 

The  beadle  —  for  beadles  have  strutted  on  our 
soil  —  quelled  the  boys,  and  ushered  the  happy 
pair  to  the  chancel-rail.  It  is  pleasant  to  know 
that  the  furniture  of  the  altar,  reading-desk,  and 
pulpit,  which  met  their  eyes,  was  crimson  dam- 
ask of  the  "  richest  and  costliest  kind,"  and  cost 
in  England  forty-two  pounds  eleven  shillings  and 
threepence. 

Venerable  Rector  Barclay  read  the  service, 
with  a  slight  Mohawk  accent.  He  had  been  for 
some  years  missionary  among  that  respectable 
tribe,  —  not,  be  it  observed,  the  unworthy  off- 
shoot known  as  Mohocks  and  colonized  in  Lon- 
don, —  and  had  generally  persuaded  his  disciples 
to  cut  themselves  down  from  polygamy  to  biga- 
my. Reverend  Samuel  Auchmuty  assisted  the 
Rector  with  occasional  interjections  of  Amen. 

The  great  officials  of  the  Province  could  not 
quit  business  at  this  hour  ;  but  the  Patroons  who 
happened  to  be  in  town  mustered  strong  in 
honor  of  their  order.  Of  pretty  girls  there  came 
galore.  Pages  would  fail  to  name  them  and 
their  charms.  There  was  the  espiegle  Miss  Jay, 
of  that  fine  old  Huguenot  Protestant  stock, 
which  still  protests  pertinaciously  against  ini- 
quity in  Church  and  State.  There  was  the  sen- 
Bible  Miss  Schuylcr,  the  buxom  Miss  Beekman, 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  55 

high-bred  Miss  Van  Rensselaer,  Miss  Winthrop, 
faultless  in  toilette  and  temper,  Miss  Morris, 
wearing  the  imperious  nose  of  her  family,  popu- 
lar Miss  Stuyvesant,  that  Amazonian  filly  Miss 
Livingston,  handsome  Mary  Phillipse  with  her 
determined  chin,  Julia  Pear  tree  Smith,  nez  en 
fair  as  usual,  and  a  score  of  others,  equally 
fair,  and  equally  worthy  of  a  place  in  a  fashion- 
able chronicle. 

"  Poor  Edwin  Brothertoft !  "  said  the  Peartree 
Smith,  as  the  young  ladies  filed  out  after  the  cer- 
emony. "  Did  you  hear  that  bold  creature  make 
her  responses,  '  I  Jane  take  thee  Edwin,'  as  if 
she  were  hailing  the  organ  loft.  These  vulgar 
girls  understand  the  policy  of  short  engagements. 
They  don't  wish  to  be  found  out.  But  company 
manners  will  not  last  forever.  Poor  Mr.  Brother- 
toft  !  why  could  he  not  find  a  mature  woman  ?  " 
(Julia  had  this  virtue,  perhaps,  to  an  exagger- 
ated degree,  and  had  been  suspected  of  designs 
upon  the  bridegroom.)  "  Girls  as  young  as  she 
is  have  had  no  chance  to  correct  their  ideal. 
She  will  correct  it  at  his  expense.  She  will  pres- 
ently find  out  he  is  not  perfect,  and  then  will 
fancy  some  other  man  would  have  suited  her  bet- 
ter. Women  should  have  a  few  years  of  flirta- 
tion before  they  settle  in  life.  These  pantalette 
marriages  never  turn  out  well.  An  engagement 
*>r  a  few  weeks  to  that  purse-proud  baby,  her 


66  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

father's  daughter !  Poor  Edwin  Brothertoft ! 
He  will  come  to  disappointment  and  grief/' 

With  this,  Miss  Julia,  striving  to  look  Cassan- 
dra, marches  off  the  stage. 

But  Edwin  Brothertoft  had  no  misgivings.  If 
he  had  fancied  any  fault  of  temper  in  his  be- 
trothed, or  perceived  any  divergence  in  principle, 
he  had  said  to  himself,  "  My  faithful  love  shall 
gently  name  the  fault,  or  point  the  error,  and 
her  love  shall  faithfully  correct  them." 

The  Billop  coach  rumbled  away  on  its  little 
journey  down  Wall  Street.  Parson  Barclay 
bagged  his  neat  fee  and  glowed  with  good  wishes. 
The  world  buzzed  admiration.  The  little  boys 
huzzaed.  The  bell-ringer  tugged  heartily  at  the 
bell-rope.  And  at  every  tug  of  his,  down  on  the 
noisy  earth,  the  musical  bells,  up  in  the  serene 
air,  responded,  "  Go,  happy  pair !  All  bliss,  no 
bale !  All  bliss,  no  bale  !  " 

The  rumble  of  the  "  leathern  conveniency," 
the  applause  of  Young  New  York,  and  the 
jubilation  of  the  bells  were  so  loud,  that  Edwin 
was  forced  to  lean  very  close  to  his  wife's  cheek 
while  he  whispered :  — 

"  We  were  alone,  and  God  has  given  us  each 
a  beloved  companion.  We  are  orphans ;  we 
shall  be  all  in  all  to  one  another.  Long,  long, 
and  always  brightening  years  of  thorough  trust 
and  love,  dearer  than  ever  was  dreamed,  lio 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  57 

before  us.  How  happy  we  shall  be  in  our 
glowing  hopes !  how  happy  in  our  generous  am- 
bitions !  how  happy  in  our  earnest  life !  Ah, 
my  love !  how  can  I  love  you  enough  for  the  gift 
of  this  beautiful  moment,  for  the  promise  of  tbi 
fairer  time  to  come!  ' 


VIII. 

CASSANDRA  was  right.  The  marriage  went 
wrong. 

It  was  the  old,  old,  young,  young  story. 

But  which  of  those  old  young  stories  ? 

Ah,  yes !  there  are  so  many  of  them.  And 
yet  all  human  tragedies  belong  to  one  Trilogy. 
There  are  but  three  kinds  of  wrongs  in  our  lives. 

The  wrongs  a  man  does  to  his  own  soul  or 
body,  or  suffers  in  either. 

The  wrongs  of  man  against  his  brother  man. 

The  wrongs  between  man  and  woman. 

This  is  one  of  the  old  young  stories  of  the 
wrong  between  man  and  woman. 

It  might  be  made  a  very  long  and  very  pain- 
ful story.  Chapter  after  chapter  might  describe 
the  gradual  vanishing  of  illusions,  the  slight 
divergence,  the  widening  of  estrangement,  the 
death  of  trust,  the  deceit  on  one  side,  the  wear- 
ing misery  of  doubt  on  the  other,  the  dragging 
march  step  by  step,  day  by  day,  to  the  final 
wrong,  the  halt  on  the  hither  edge,  and  the 
careless,  the  desperate,  the  irremediable  plunge 
at  last. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  59 

But  the  statement  of  the  result  is  sad  enough. 
Let  all  these  dreary  chapters  be  condensed  into 
one! 

A  fatality  preceded  the  wrong.    It  was  this :  — 

The  woman  was  coarse,  and  the  man  was  fine. 
No  gentle  influences  had  received  her  in  the 
facile  days  of  childhood,  and  trained  her  nobler 
nature  to  the  masterhood.  Her  eyes  had  been 
familiar  with  vulgar  people  and  their  vulgar 
ways.  Her  ears  had  heard  their  coarse  talk. 
Her  mind  had  narrowed  to  their  ignoble  meth- 
ods of  judgment.  Her  heart's  desire  had  been 
taught  to  be  for  the  cheap  and  mundane  posses- 
sions, money,  show,  titles,  place,  notoriety ;  and 
not  for  the  priceless  and  immortal  wages  of  an 
earnest  life,  Peace,  Joy,  and  Love.  She  could 
not  comprehend  a  great  soul  unless  its  body 
were  dubbed  My  Lord  or  Sir  Edwin,  and  wore 
some  gaud  of  a  star  at  the  breast,  or  a  ribbon 
at  the  knee. 

Poor  child !  She  was  young  enough  to  bo 
docile.  But  after  the  blind  happiness  of  that 
honeymoon  at  Brothertoft  Manor,  the  old  feel- 
ing of  her  first  interview  with  her  lover  re- 
vived and  exasperated. 

"  I  believe  he  wants  to  make  me  feel  igno- 
rant and  vulgar,"  she  thought,  "  so  that  he 
can  govern  me.  But  he  shall  not.  I  intend 
to  be  mistress.  I  'm  sick  of  his  meek  sugges- 


60  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

tions.    No  sir ;  my  way  is  my  way,  and  I  mean 
to  have  it." 

And  so,  rebuked  by  contact  with  a  delicacy  she 
could  not  understand,  she  resolutely  coarsened 
herself,  sometimes  for  spite,  sometimes  for  sorry 
consolation.  Her  unsensitive  nature  trampled 
roughly  on  his  scruples. 

"  My  dear  Jane,"  he  said  to  her  at  Brothertoft, 
*'  could  you  not  instruct  Mr.  Skaats  to  be  a  little 
more  indulgent  with  the  Manor  tenants  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Skaats's  business  is  to  get  the  rents,  for 
as  to  spend." 

"  But  these  people  have  been  used  to  gentler 
treatment." 

"  Yes ;  they  have  been-  allowed  to  delay  and 
shirk  as  they  pleased.  My  property  must  not  be 
wasted  as  yours  was." 

"  It  is  a  hard  summer  for  them,  with  this 
drought." 

"  It  is  an  expensive  summer  for  us,  with  these 
repairs." 

Again,  when  they  were  re-established  in  New 
York,  other  causes  of  dispute  came  up. 

"  I  wish,  my  dear  Jane,"  he  said,  "  that  you 
would  be  a  little  more  civil  with  my  patriot 
friends  from  Boston." 

"  I  don't  like  people  who  talk  through  their 
noses." 

"  Forgive  the  twang  for  the  sake  of  the  good 
sense." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  61 

"  Good  sense  !  It  seems  to  me  tiresome  grum- 
bling. I  hate  the  word  '  Grievance.'  I  despise 
the  name  Patriot." 

. "  Remember,  my  dear  child,  that  I  think  with 
these  gentlemen ! " 

"  Yes ;  and  you  are  injuring  your  reputation 
and  your  chances  by  it.  A  Brothertoft  should 
be  conservative,  and  stand  by  his  order." 

"  I  try  to  be  conservative  of  Right.  I  stand 
by  the  Order  of  Worth,  Courage,  and  Loyalty  to 
Freedom." 

"  0,  there  you  go  again  into  your  foggy  meta- 
physics ! " 

Again,  he  came  one  day,  and  said,  with  much 
concern  :  "  My  dear,  I  was  distressed  to  know 
from  Skaats  that  your  father's  estate  owned  a 
third  of  the  '  Red  Rover.' " 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  with  no  concern. 

"  I  was  sure  you  did  not  know,  or  you  would 
be  as  much  shocked  as  I  am.  She  is  in  the 
slave-trade  ! " 

"  Well.  And  I  have  often  heard  my  father 
call  her  a  '  tidy  bit  of  property,'  and  say  she  had 
paid  for  herself  a  dozen  times." 

He  could  not  make  her  comprehend  his  hatred 
of  this  vile  business,  and  his  contempt,  as  a  gen- 
tleman, for  all  the  base  subterfuges  by  which 
base  people  tried  to  defend  it. 

The  Red  Rover  fortunately  did  not  remain  a 


62  EDWIN   DEOTHERTOFT. 

subject  of  discussion.  On  that  very  trip  the  Ne- 
groes rose  and  broiled  the  captain  and  crew, — 
and  served  them  right.  Then,  being  used  only 
to  the  navigation  of  dug-outs,  they  omitted  to 
pump  the  vessel,  whereupon  she  sunk,  and  the 
sharks  had  a  festival. 

With  such  divergences  of  opinion  the  first 
year  of  this  propitious  marriage  passed  miserably 
enough.  Yet  there  was  a  time  when  it  seemed 
to  the  disappointed  husband  and  the  defiant  wife 
that  their  love  might  revive. 

In  1758,  Edwin  Brothertoft,  rich,  aristocratic, 
and  a  liberal,  the  pride  of  the  Colony  as  its  fore- 
most young  man,  was  selected  as  the  mouthpiece 
of  a  commission  to  present  at  home  a  petition 
and  remonstrance.  Such  papers  were  flying 
freely  across  the  water  at  that  time.  Reams  of 
paper  must  be  fired  before  the  time  comes  for 
firing  lead. 

So  to  England  went  the  envoy  with  his  gor- 
geous wife.  They  were  received  with  much 
distinction,  as  worthy  young  Americans  from 
Benicia  and  elsewhere  still  are. 

"Huzzay ! "  was  the  rapturous  acclaim.  "  They 
do  not  talk  through  rebel  noses  !  " 

"  Huzzay  !  It  is  English  they  speak,  not 
Wigwamee ! " 

"  Iluzzay !  The  squaw  is  as  beautiful  as  our 
Fairest,  and  painted  red  and  white  by  cunning 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  63 

Nature,  not  daubed  with  ochres.  Huzzay!  the 
yuung  sagamore  is  an  Adonis.  He  beats  Ches- 
terfield at  a  bow  and  Selwyn  at  a  mot." 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  grew  proud  of  her  husband, 
and  grateful  to  him  that  he  had  chastened  her 
Billop  manners. 

What  a  brilliant  visit  that  was! 

All  the  liberal  statesmen  —  Pitt,  Henry  Fox, 
Conway,  mellifluous  Murray  —  were  glad  to  do 
the  young  American  honor. 

Rugged  Dr.  Sam  Johnson  belabored  him  with 
sesquipedalian  words,  but  in  a  friendly  way  and 
without  bullying.  He  could  be  a  good  old  boy, 
if  he  pleased,  with  good  young  ones. 

Young  Mr.  Burke  was  gratified  that  his  friend 
from  a  sublime  and  beautiful  hemisphere  appre- 
ciated the  new  treatise  on  the  Sublime  and  Beau- 
tiful. 

Young  Mr.  Joshua  Reynolds  was  flattered  that 
the  distinguished  stranger  consented  to  sit  to 
him,  and  in  return  tried  to  flatter  the  portrait. 

Young  Dr.  Oliver  Goldsmith,  a  poor  Bohe- 
mian, smattered  in  music  and  medicine,  came 
to  inquire  whether  a  clever  man,  out  of  place, 
could  find  his  niche  in  America. 

Mr.  Garrick,  playing  Ranger,  quite  lost  his  self- 
possession  when  Mrs.  Brothertoft  first  brought 
her  flashing  black  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks  into 
the  theatre,  and  only  recovered  when  the  audi- 


64  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

ence  perceived  the  emotion  and  cheered  it  and 
the  lady  together. 

That  great  dilettante,  Mr.  Horace  Walpoler 
made  the  pair  a  charming  dSjeuner  at  Straw- 
berry Hill,  upon  which  occasion  he  read  aloud, 
with  much  cadence,  —  as  dilettante  gentlemen 
continue  to  do  in  our  own  time,  —  his  friend  Mr. 
Gray's  elaborate  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard, 
just  printed.  After  this  literary  treat,  Mr.  Hor- 
ace said :  "  Tell  me  something  about  that  clever 
young  aide-de-camp,  Washington,  who  got  Iro- 
quois  Braddock  the  privilege  of  dying  in  his 
scalp.  A  brave  fellow  that!  an  honor  to  youi 
country,  sir."  Mr.  George  Selwyn,  the  wit,  was 
also  a  guest.  He  looked  maliciously  out  of  his 
"  demure  eyes,"  and  said :  "  You  forget,  Horry, 
that  you  used  to  name  Major  Washington  '  a  fan- 
faron,'  and  laugh  at  him  for  calling  the  whiz 
of  cannon-balls  '  a  delightful  sound.'  "  Where- 
upon the  host,  a  little  abashed,  laughed,  and 
said :  "  I  wish  such  '  fanfarons '  were  more 
plenty  in  the  army."  And  the  sparkling  gossip 
did  not  relate  how  he  had  put  this  nickname 
in  black  and  white  in  a  letter  to  Sir  Horace 
Mann,  in  whose  correspondence  it  may  still  be 
read,  with  abundance  of  other  second-hand  jokes. 

What  a  gay  visit  it  was  of  the  young  pair  in 
that  brilliant  moment  of  England  ! 

While  Brothertoft,  in  the  intervals  of  urging 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  65 

his  Petition  and  Remonstrance,  discussed  all  the 
sublime  and  beautiful  things  that  are  dreamt  of 
in  philosophy  with  Mr.  Burke,  —  while  he  talked 
Art  with  Mr.  Reynolds,  poetry  with  Dr.  Gold- 
smith, and  de  omnibus  rebus  with  Dr.  Johnson, 
—  his  wife  was  holding  a  little  court  of  her  own. 

She  was  a  new  sensation,  with  her  bold,  wilful 
beauty  and  her  imperiotis  Americanism.  A  new 
sensation,  and  quite  annihilated  all  the  tradi- 
tions of  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  and  her  Turkish 
dress,  when  she  appeared  at  a  masquerade  as 
Pocahontas,  in  a  fringed  and  quilled  buckskin 
robe,  moccasons,  and  otter  coronet  with  an  eagle's 
plume. 

"  I  suppose  that 's  a  scalping-knife  she 's  play- 
ing with,"  said  the  Duke  of  Gurgoyle,  inspect- 
ing her  in  this  attire.  "And,  by  George,  she 
looks  as  if  she  could  use  it." 

Then  the  ugly  old  monster,  and  the  other 
blase  men,  surrounded  the  Colonial  beauty,  and 
fooled  her  with  flattery. 

Was  she  spoilt  by  this  adulation  ? 

"  Dear  Edwin,"  she  schemed,  in  a  little  visit 
they  made  to  Lincolnshire  and  the  ruins  of  old 
Brothertoft  Manor,  "  let  us  buy  back  this  estate 
and  never  return  to  that  raw  America.  You 
can  go  into  Parliament,  make  one  or  two  of  your 
beautiful  speeches,  and  presently  be  a  Peer,  witfr 
stars  and  garters." 


66  EDWIN  BEOTHERTOFT. 

"  Does  a  garter  straighten  a  leg  ?  does  a  star 
ennoble  a  heart  ?  Listen,  my  love,  do  you  not 
hear  Great  Tom  of  Lincoln  warning  me,  as  he 
long  ago  warned  my  ancestor,  '  Go  home  again, 
Brothertoft,  Liberty  is  hi  danger '  ? " 

"  No,"  she  rejoined,  petulantly  ;  "  a  loyal  bell 
would  not  utter  such  treasonable  notes.  This 
is  what  I  hear :  '  Come  again,  Brothertoft,  Lord 
of  the  old  Manor  ! '  Liberty  !  Liberty  !  You 
tire  me  with  your  idle  fancies.  Why  will  you 
throw  away  name  and  fame  ?  " 

"  I  will  try  to  gain  them,  since  they  are  pre- 
cious to  you ;  but  they  must  come  in  the  way 
of  oluty." 

There  was  peril  in  these  ambitions  of  hers  ; 
but  the  visionary  husband  thought,  "  How  can  I 
wonder  that  her  head  is  a  little  turned  with 
adulation  ?  She  merits  it  all,  my  beautiful  wife ! 
But  she  will  presently  get  the  court  glare  out 
of  her  eyes.  When  our  child  is  born,  a  pledge 
of  our  restored  affection,  she  will  recognize 
deeper  and  tenderer  duties." 

The  Brothertoft  embassy  was  a  social  success, 
but  a  political  failure. 

The  lewd  old  dolt  of  a  King  sulkily  pooh-pooh- 
ed Remonstrance  and  Petition. 

"  You  ought  to  have  redress,"  says  Pitt,  "  but 
I  am  hardly  warm  in  my  seat  of  Prime  Minister. 
I  can  only  be  a  tacit  friend  at  present." 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  67 

"  Go  home  and  wait,"  says  Ben  Franklin,  a 
shrewd  old  Boston-boy, — fond  of  tricks  with  kites, 
keys,  and  kerchiefs,  —  who  was  at  that  time  resi- 
dent in  London.  "  Wait  awhile  !  I  have  not 
been  fingering  thunderbolts  so  long,  without 
learning  that  people  may  pooh-pooh  at  the  clouds, 
and  say  the  flashes  are  only  heat-lightning  ;  but 
by  and  by  they  '11  be  calling  upon  the  cellars  to 
take  'em  in,  and  the  feather-beds  to  cover  'em." 

The  Brothertofts  went  home.  England  forgot 
them,  and  relapsed  into  its  belief,  — 

That  on  the  new  continent  the  English  colo- 
nists could  not  remain  even  half-civilized  Yen- 
geese,  but  sank  to  absolute  Yankees,  — 

Whose  bows  were  contortions,  and  smiles 
grimaces ; 

Whose  language  was  a  nasal  whoop  of  Anglo- 
Iroquois  ; 

And  who  needed  to  be  bolused  with  Stamp 
Acts  and  drenched  with  Tea  Duties,  while  Tom 
Gage  and  Jack  Burgoyne  pried  open  their  teeth 
with  the  sword. 

There  was  one  visible,  tangible,  ponderable  re- 
sult of  the  Brothertofts'  visit  to  England. 

Lucy  Brothertoft,  an  only  child,  was  born,  — 
a  token  of  love  revived,  —  alas !  a  monument  of 
love  revived  to  die  and  be  dismissed  among 
memories. 

If  the  wife  had  been  a  true  wife,  how  sweetly 


68  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

her  affection  for  her  husband  would  have  re- 
doubled for  him  in  his  new  relation  of  father. 
Here  was  a  cradle  for  rendezvous.  Why  not  clasp 
hands  and  renew  vows  across  it  ?  This  smiling, 
sinless  child,  —  why  could  it  not  recall  to  either 
parent's  face  a  smile  of  trust  and  love  ? 

But  this  bliss-  was  not  to  be. 

Ring  sadly,  bells  of  Trinity !  It  is  the  chris- 
tening day.  Alas  !  the  chimes  that  welcome  the 
daughter  to  the  bosom  of  the  church  are  toll- 
ing the  knell  of  love  in  the  household  where 
she  will  grow  to  womanhood. 

The  harmonious  interlude  ended.  The  old, 
old  story  went  on.  Slowly,  slowly,  slowly,  the 
wife  grew  to  hate  her  husband.  Sadly,  sadly, 
sadly,  he  learned  to  only  pity  her. 

The  visit  to  England  had  only  more  com- 
pletely enamored  her  of  worldliness.  She 
missed  the  adulation  of  My  Lord  and  Sir  Harry. 
Her  husband's  love  and  approval  ceased  to  be 
sufficient  for  her.  And  when  this  is  said,  all  is 
said. 

It  was  a  refinement  of  cruelty  in  the  torture 
days  to  bind  a  living  man  to  a  corpse.  Dead 
lips  on  living  lips.  Lumpish  heart  at  throbbing 
heart.  Glazed  eyes  so  close  that  their  stare 
could  be  felt,  not  seen,  by  eyes  set  in  horror. 
Death  grappling,  and  Life  wrestling  itself  to 
Death.  Have  we  never  seen  this,  now  that  the 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  69 

days  of  bodily  torture  are  over  ?  Have  we  seen 
110  delicate  spirit  of  a  woman  quelled  by  the  em- 
braces of  a  brute  ?  Have  we  seen  no  high  and 
gentle-hearted  man  bound  to  a  coarse,  base  wife, 
and  slain  by  that  body  of  death  ? 

The  world,  the  oyster,  sulked  when  the  young 
man  it  had  so  generously  gaped  for  quite  lost  his 
appetite  for  fat  things. 

"  Shame  ! "  said  the  indignant  Province. 
"  "We  had  unanimously  voted  Edwin  Brothertoft 
our  representative  gentleman.  He  was  ardent 
and  visionary,  and  we  forgave  him.  He  was 
mellifluous,  grammatical,  ornamental,  and  we 
petted  him.  We  were  a  little  plebeian,  and 
needed  an  utterly  brave  young  aristocrat  to 
carry  our  oriflamme,  and  we  thrust  the  staff 
into  his  hand.  Shame,  Brothertoft!  you  have 
gulled  us.  It  is  the  old  story,  —  premature  blos- 
som, premature  decay.  The  hare  sleeps.  The 
tortoise  swallows  the  prize!  To  the  front,  ye 
plodders,  slow,  but  sure !  And  you,  broken- 
down  Brothertoft,  retire  to  the  back  streets ! 
wear  the  old  clothes !  and  thank  your  stars,  if  we 
consent  to  pay  you  even  a  starvation  salary  !  " 

"  Poor  Jane  Billop ! "  said  Julia  Peartree 
Smith,  who  was  now  very  intimate  with  that 
lady.  "  I  always  said  it  would  be  so.  I  knew 
she  would  come  to  disappointment  and  grief. 
The  Brothertofts  were  always  weak  as  water. 


70  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

And  this  mercenary  fellow  hurried  her  into  a 
marriage,  a  mere  child,  after  an  engagement  of 
a  few  weeks.  No  wonder  she  despises  him.  I 
do,  heartily.  What  lovely  lace  this  is.  I  won- 
der if  she  could  n't  give  me  another  yard ! 
Heigh  ho  !  Nobody  smuggles  for  me  !  " 

Brother  patriots,  too,  had  their  opinion  on 
the  subject  of  Brothertoft's  withdrawal  into  ob- 
scurity. 

"  These  delicate,  poetical  natures,"  said  our 
old  friend,  Patroon  Livingston,  "  feel  very 
keenly  the  blight  of  political  enslavement. 
Well  may  a  leader  droop,  when  his  comrades 
skulk !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  it  is  our 
non-committal  policy  which  has  disheartened 
our  friend.  When  we  dare  to  stand  by  him, 
and  say,  '  Liberty  or  death ! '  the  man  will  be 
a  man  again,  —  yes,  a  better  man  than  the  best 
of  us.  I  long  to  see  his  eye  kindle,  and  hear  his 
voice  ring  again.  I  love  a  gentleman,  when  he 
is  man  enough  to  be  free." 

But  whoever  could  have  looked  into  this 
weary  heart  would  have  read  there  a  sadder 
story  than  premature  decay,  a  deadlier  blight 
than  political  enslavement,  a  crueller  and  closer 
wrong  than  the  desertion  of  comrades. 

Wrong !  it  had  come  to  that,  —  the  final 
wrong  between  man  and  woman,  —  the  catas- 
trophe of  the  first  act  of  the  old,  old  tragedy. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  71 

These  pages  do  not  tolerate  the  details  of 
this  bitter  wrong. 

The  mere  facts  of  guilt  are  of  little  value 
except  to  the  gossip  and  the  tipstaff;  but  how 
the  wounded  and  the  wounding  soul  bear  them- 
selves after  the  crime,  that  is  one  of  the  needful 
lessons  of  life. 


IX. 

RED. 

That  was  the  color  now  master  in  Mrs.  Broth- 
ertoft's  houses,  town  and  country. 

Supercilious  officers,  in  red  coats,  who  were 
addressed  as  General  or  My  Lord,  insolent  of- 
ficers, in  red  coats,  hight  Colonel  or  Sir  Har- 
ry, arranged  their  laced  cravats  at  the  mirror 
under  the  rampant  eagle,  or  lounged  on  the 
sofas. 

There  were  plenty  of  such  personages  now  in 
New  York,  and  Mrs.  Brothertoft's  house  made 
them  all  welcome.  Regimental  talk,  the  dullest 
and  thinnest  of  all  the  shop  talks  talked  among 
men,  was  the  staple  of  conversation  over  her 
Madeira  at  her  dinners,  grand,  or  enfamille,  bien 
cntendu. 

Now  and  then  a  nasal  patriot  from  Down  East, 
or  a  patriot  Thee-and-Thouer  from  Philadelphia, 
knocked  at  the  door  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Broth- 
ertoft. 

"  Out  of  town,  Sir,"  was  the  reply  of  the  wiggy 
negro. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  73 

"  When  do  you  expect  him  back  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,  Sir,"  the  porter  replied,  rathor 
sadly. 

The  patriot  retired,  and  the  negro  closed  the 
door  with  a  sigh,  —  the  pompous  sigh  of  an  old 
family  servant. 

"  No,"  muttered  he,  "  I  don't  know  when  he'll 
be  back.  He  never  would  come  back  if  he  knew 
about  the  goings  on  in  this  house.  He  never 
would  anyhow,  if  it  wasn't  to  look  after  Miss 
Lucy.  There  she  conies  down  stairs,  I  '11  ask 
her.  Miss  Lucy  !  " 

A  gentle,  graceful  little  girl,  of  the  Brother- 
toft  type,  turned  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and 
answered,  "  What,  Voltaire  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss,  where  your  father  is, 
now?" 

"  No,"  she  replied,  half  sadly,  half  coldly. 

"A  gentleman  was  just  asking  when  he  would 
be  back." 

"  He  does  not  inform  us  of  his  motions." 

She  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  subject,  as  if 
there  were  guilt  in  touching  it. 

Voltaire  looked  forlornly  after  her,  as  she 
passed  into  the  parlor.  Then  he  shook  his  fist 
indignantly  at  a  great  palmated  pair  of  moose- 
horns,  mounted  as  a  hat-stand  in  the  hall.  On 
the  right-brow  antler  hung  a  military  cocked 


74  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

hat.  On  the  left  bezantler,  a  pert  little  fatigue 
cap  was  suspended. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  Voltaire  began. 

Black  babble  has  become  rather  a  bore  in  liter- 
ature. Voltaire,  therefore,  will  try  not  to  talk 
Tombigbee. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  muttered  the  negro,  in  futile 
protest,  "  to  see  them  fellows  hanging  up  their 
hats  here,  and  the  real  master  —  the  real  gentle- 
man—  shamed  out  of  house  and  home. 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  he  continued  despondingly, 
"  to  see  Miss  Lucy,  as  sweet  a  little  lady  as  ever 
stepped,  taught  to  think  her  father  a  good-for- 
nothing  spendthrift  and  idler,  if  not  worse.  The 
madam  will  never  let  her  see  him  alone.  The 
poor  cliild  is  one  of  the  kind  that  believes  what  is 
told  to  'em.  No  wonder  she  is  solemn  as  Sunday 
all  the  time.  I  don't  see  anything  to  be  done. 
But  I  '11  go  down  and  ask  Sappho." 

Again  he  shook  his  fist  at  those  enormous 
excrescences  from  the  brow  of  a  bold  Cervus 
alces,  —  a  moose  that  once  walked  the  High- 
lands near  Brothertoft  Manor.  Then  he  sham- 
bled down  stairs  to  his  wife  Sappho's  boudoir, 
the  kitchen. 

Blacker  than  Sappho  of  Lesbos  ever  looked 
when  Phaon  cried,  Avauiit !  was  this  namesake 
of  the  female  Sam  Patch  of  Leucadia.  But 
through  her  eyes  and  mouth  good-humor  shone, 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  75 

as  the  jolly  fire  shines  through  the  chinks  of  the 
black  furnace-doors  under  a  boiler. 

"  Things  goes  wrong  in  this  house,  all  but 
your  cooking  department,  Sappho,  and  my  but- 
ler department,"  says  Voltaire.  "  The  master  is 
shamed  away,  and  is  off  properogating  liberty. 
The  mistress,  —  I  suppose  we  'd  better  not  say 
nothing  about  her." 

Sappho  shook  her  head,  and  stirred  her  soup. 

"  But  Miss  Lucy  is  going  to  be  a  big  girl  pretty 
soon.  Her  mother  is  making  her  mistrust  her 
father.  She  's  got  no  Mends.  What  will  come 
of  her?" 

Sappho  tasted  her  soup.     It  was  savory. 

"Voltaire,"  says  she,  striving  to  talk  a  dialect 
worthy  of  her  name,  and  hitting  half-way  to 
English,  "  Voltaire,  Faith  is  what  you  wants. 
You  is  not  got  the  Faith  of  a  free  colored  gen- 
tleman, member  of  one  of  de  oldest  families  in 
all  Westchester.  You  is  got  no  more  Faith  than 
them  Mumbo  Jumbo  Billop  niggers  what  immi- 
grated in  the  Red  Rover.  You  jess  let  de  Lord 
look  after  Miss  Lucy.  She  is  one  after  de  Lord's 
own  heart." 

"But  the  Devil  has  put  his  huf  into  this 
house." 

"  If  you  was  a  cook,  you  'd  have  more  Faith. 
Jest  you  taste  that  soup  now.  How  is  it  ?  " 

"  Prime,"  says  Voltaire,  blowing  and  sipping. 


76  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"You  taste  it,  Plato,"  she  repeated,  dipping 
another  ladle  from  the  pot,  and  offering  to  her 
son,  heir  of  his  father's  philosophic  dignity,  and 
his  mother's  Socratic  visage.  "  How  is  it  ?  " 

"  Prime !  "  says  this  second  connoisseur. 

"  Now,  what  you  guess  is  the  most  impor taut- 
est thing  in  this  soup  ?  " 

"  Conundrums  is  vulgar,  particular  for  ladies," 
says  Voltaire,  loftily. 

"  That 's  because  you  can't  guess." 

"  Poh !  it 's  easy  enough,"  says  he.  "  Beef! " 
-  "  No.  You  guess,  Plato." 

"  B'ilin'  water,"  cries  he,  sure  of  his  solution. 

Sappho  shook  her  head. 

"  Turkey  carcasses,"  propounded  Yoltaire,  with 
excitement. 

"  Onions,"  offered  Plato,  with  eagerness. 

"  No,"  says  Sappho,  "  it 's  Faith !  " 

"  I  was  jest  a  goin'  to  say  Faith,"  Plato  un- 
blushingly  asserted. 

"  You  see,"  Sappho  explained,  "  I  takes  beef, 
—  bery  well !  and  b'ilin'  water,  —  bery  well !  and 
turkey  carcasses,  and  onions,  and  heaps  of  things, 
and  puts  'em  into  a  pot  on  the  fire.  Then  I  has 
Faith." 

"  Poh !  "  cried  Yoltaire.  "  'T  was  n't  a  fair 
conundrum ;  you  has  the  Faith  into  yourself." 

"  Then  I  takes  Faith,"  repeated  Sappho,  with- 
out untieing  this  interruption,  "  Faith,  that  these 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  77 

< 

'gradients  which  is  not  soup  is  comin'  soup  in 
de  Lord's  time,  an  dey  alluz  comes  soup." 

"  And  the  prirnest  kind !  "  Plato  interjected, 
authoritatively. 

"  So,"  continued  Sappho,  improving  the  les- 
son, "  soup  and  roast  geese,  and  pies  and  pan- 
cakes risin'  over  night,  has  taught  me  disyer 
proverb,  '  Wait,  and  things  comes  out  right  at 
last.'  So  it 's  boun'  to  be  with  Miss  Lucy." 

This  logic  convinced  the  two  namesakes  of 
philosophers,  and  they  carried  up  dinner,  in  a 
perplexed  but  patient  mood. 

My  Lord  and  Sir  Harry  were  both  dining  there 
that  day. 

"  Do  you  know  what  has  become  of  our  host- 
ess's husband  ?  "  asked  My  Lord,  as  they  lounged 
off  after  dinner. 

"  He  's  going  about  the  Provinces,  stirring  up 
rebellion  after  a  feeble  fashion,"  said  Sir  Harry. 
"I  believe  that  fellow  Gaine  pays  him  a  few 
shillings  a  week  for  editing  his  '  Mercury,'  when 
he  is  in  New  York." 

"  If  I  was  Governor  Tryon  I  'd  have  that  dirty 
sheet  stopped.  He's  a  new  broom.  He  ought 
to  make  a  clean  sweep  of  all  these  Freedom 
Shrickers." 

Such  then  was  the  condition  of  things  in  the 
Brothertoft  family  at  the  beginning  of  Tryou's 
administration. 


78  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Edwin  Broth ertoft  had  not  become  an  absolute 
stranger  to  his  old  home,  for  two  reasons.  He 
pitied  his  guilty  wife.  He  loved  his  innocent 
daughter.  He  could  not  quite  give  up  the  hope 
that  his  wife  might  need  his  pardon,  by  and  by; 
when  sin  soured  to  her  taste.  He  must  never 
totally  abandon  his  child  to  the  debasing  influ- 
ences about  her,  though  he  had  no  power  or  in- 
fluence to  rescue  her  now,  —  that  disheartened 
and  broken-down  man,  contemned  by  the  world 
as  a  purposeless  idler. 

Matters  had  net  reached  this  pass  in  one  year 
nor  until  many  years,  —  dreary  to  imagine,  far 
too  dreary  to  describe. 

Who  shall  enumerate  the  daily  miseries  in  that 
hapless  house  ?  Who  shall  count  the  cruel  little 
scratches  of  the  poniard,  with  which  the  wife 
practised  for  her  final  stab  ?  What  Recording 
Angel  kept  tally  of  the  method  she  took  to  mur- 
der his  peace,  that  he  might  know  it  was  mur- 
dered, dead,  dead,  dead,  and  not  exasperate  he* 
with  his  patient  hope  that  it  might  recover  ? 

Her  fortune  gave  her  one  weapon,  —  a  savage 
one  in  those  vulgar  hands.  She  used  this  power 
insolently,  as  baser  spirits  may.  She  would  have 
been  happy  to  believe,  what  she  pretended,  that 
her  husband  married  her  for  money.  Often  sho 
told  him  so.  Often  she  reproached  him  with  her 
own  disappointment. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  79 

"  Did  1  marry  you,"  she  would  say,  "  to  be  in- 
efficient and  obscure,  —  a  mere  nobody  in  the 
world  ?  You  were  to  be  a  great  man,  —  that 
was  your  part  of  the  bargain.  You  knew  I  was 
ambitious.  I  had  a  right  to  be.  You  have  had 
everything  to  give  you  success,  —  everything  !  " 

"  Not  quite  everything,"  he  said  sadly.  "  Not 
Love ! " 

Ah  miserable  woman!  as  she  grew  practised 
in  deceit  and  wrong,  she  hated  her  husband  more 
and  more. 

She  maddened  herself  against  him.  She 
blamed  him  as  the  cause  of  her  evil  choices. 

"  It  is  his  fault,  not  mine,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"He  ought  to  have  controlled  me,  and  then  I 
should  not  have  done  what  makes  me  ashamed 
to  face  his  puny  face.  He  ought  to  have  said, 
4  You  shall  and  you  shall  not,'  instead  of  his 
feeble,  '  Is  this  wise,  Jane  ?  Is  this  delicate  ?  Is 
this  according  to  your  nobler  nature  ?  '  I  don't 
like  to  be  pleaded  with.  A  despot  was  what  I 
needed.  If  he  was  half  a  man,  he  would  take  a 
whip  to  me,  —  yes,  beat  me,  and  kick  all  my 
friends  out  of  doors  and  be  master  in  the  house. 
That  I  could  understand." 

She  maddened  herself  against  him  more  and 
more.  She  so  yielded  to  an  insolent  hate,  that 
she  was  no  better  than  a  mad  woman  while  he 
was  by  to  enrage  her  with  his  patient,  crushed, 


80  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

and  yet  always  courteous  demeanor,  —  a  sorrow- 
ful shadow  of  the  ardent,  chivalric  Edwin  Broth- 
ertoft  of  yore. 

"  Why  not  kill  the  craven-spirited  wretch  ?  " 
she  thought,  "  or  have  him  killed  ?  He  would 
be  better  dead,  than  living  and  scorned  ?  Once 
rid  of  him,  and  I  could  take  my  beauty  and  my 
wealth  to  England,  and  be  a  grand  lady  after  all. 
Lady  Brothertoft  of  Brothertoft  Hall!  that  was 
what  I  had  a  right  to  expect.  He  could  have 
given  it  to  me.  The  fool  was  capable  enough. 
Everybody  said  he  might  be  what  he  pleased. 
Why  could  he  not  love  real  things?  a  splendid 
house,  plenty  of  slaves,  a  name,  a  title,  instead 
of  this  ridiculous  dream  of  Liberty.  Liberty !  if 
he  and  his  weak-minded  friends  only  dared  strike 
a  blow,  —  if  they  only  would  rebel,  —  he  might  be 
got  rid  of.  Then  I  should  be  free.  Ah,  I  will 
have  my  triumphs  yet !  Kings  have  loved  wo- 
men not  half  so  handsome !  " 

And  with  red,  unblushing  cheeks  she  looked 
at  herself  in  the  mirror,  and  hated  that  obstruc- 
tion, her  husband,  more  and  more. 

A  mad  hate,  which  she  would  gladly  have 
gratified  with  murder.  The  air  often  seemed  to 
her  full  of  Furies,  scourging  her  on  to  do  the 
deed.  Furies  flitted  before  her,  proffering  pal- 
pable weapons,  —  weapons  always  of  strange  and 
antique  fashion,  such  as  she  had  seen  and  haii- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  81 

died  in  old  museums  in  England.  She  re- 
membered now  with  what  pleasure  she  used  to 
play  with  them,  while  she  listened  quietly  to 
some  sinister  legend,  and  knew  how  the  stain 
came  on  the  blade. 

"  Kill  him !  "  the  Furies  cried  to  her.  It  was 
a  sound  like  the  faint,  distant  cry  one  hears  in 
a  benighted  forest,  and  wonders  whether  the 
creature  be  beast  or  man. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  answered,  aloud,  to  this  hail 
in  the  far  background  of  her  purposes. 

The  postponement  seemed  to  imply  a  promise, 
and  she  perceived  the  circle  of  shadowy  Furies 
draw  a  little  step  nearer,  and  shout  to  each 
other  in  triumph,  " '  Not  yet ' ;  she  says,  '  Not 
yet.' " 

So  her  hate  grew  more  and  more  akin  to  a 
madness,  as  every  cruel  or  base  passion,  even 
the  silliest  and  most  trifling,  will,  if  fondled. 

She  found,  by  and  by,  that  the  cruellest  stab 
she  could  give  to  the  man  she  had  wronged  was 
through  his  daughter. 

"  Lucy  is  all  Brothertoft,  and  no  Billop,"  Julia 
Peartree  Smith  often  said.  "  It  's  all  wrong ;  she 
ought  to  take  after  her  strong  parent,  not  her 
weak  one." 

There  was  a  kind  of  strength  incomprehensible 
to  the  old  tabby.  Nor  did  she  know  the  law  of 
the  transmission  of  spiritual  traits,  —  with  what 
4*  ? 


82  EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT. 

fine  subtlety  they  get  themselves  propagated,  and 
prevail  over  coarser  and  cruder  forces. 

Lucy  was  all  Brothertoft.  In  her  early  days 
she  did  not  show  one  atom  of  the  maternal  char- 
acter. That  made  the  mother's  influence  more 
commanding.  The  child  loved  the  mother  with 
a  modification  of  the  same  passion  that  the  father 
had  felt  for  a  nature  he  deemed  his  nohler  coun- 
terpart. The  father  was  so  much  like  his  daugh- 
ter that  she  could  not  comprehend  him,  until 
she  was  ripe  enough  to  comprehend  herself. 
Crude  contrasts  are  earliest  perceived,  earliest 
appreciated,  and  earliest  admired,  in  character 
as  in  art. 

So  without  any  resistance  Mrs.  Brothertoft 
wielded  Lucy.  She  let  the  child  love  her  and 
confide  in  her  exclusively.  But  she  hated  her. 
She  hated  Edwin  Brothertoft's  daughter.  There 
was  the  girl  growing  more  and  more  like  him, 
day  by  day.  There  were  the  father's  smile,  the 
father's  manner,  the  father's  voice,  even  the 
father's  very  expressions  of  endearment,  forever 
reproaching  the  mother  with  old  memories  re- 
vived. 

Ah  this  miserable  woman  !  She  learnt  to  fear 
her  daughter,  —  to  dread  the  inevitable  day  when 
that  pure  nature  would  recoil  from  hers.  She 
watched  the  gentle  face  covertly.  When  would 
that  look  of  almost  lover-like  admiration  depart? 


EDWIN   BEOTHERTOFT.  83 

When  would  disgust  be  visible  ?  When  would 
the  mild  hazel  eyes  perceive  that  the  bold  black 
eyes  could  not  meet  them  ?  When  would  the 
fair  cheeks  burn  with  an  agonizing  blush  of 
shame  ? 

"  When  will  the  girl  dare  to  pity  me,  as  that 
poor  wretch  her  father  does?"  she  thought. 

This  gentle,  yielding,  timid  creature  became 
her  mother's  angel  of  vengeance.  Mrs.  Brother- 
toft  never  met  her  after  an  hour  of  separation 
without  a  wild  emotion  of  terror. 

"  Has  she  discovered  ?  Does  she  know  what 
I  am?  Did  some  tattler  whisper  it  to  her  in 
the  street  ?  The  winds  are  always  uttering  a 
name  to  me.  Has  she  heard  it,  too  ?  Did  she 
dream  last  night  ?  Has  her  dream  told  her  what 
her  mother  is  ?  If  she  kisses  me,  I  am  safe." 

Yes.  Sweet  Lucy  always  had  the  same  eager 
caress  ready.  She  so  overflowed  with  love  to 
those  she  trusted,  that  she  was  content  with  her 
own  emotion,  and  did  not  measure  the  tempera- 
ture of  the  answering  caress. 

Ah  this  miserable  mother !  as  false  to  mater- 
nal as  to  marital  love.  It  became  her  task  to 
poison  the  daughter  against  her  father.  If  these 
two  should  ever  understand  each  other,  if  there 
should  ever  be  one  little  whisper  of  confidence 
between  them,  if  she  should  ever  have  to  face, 
the  thought  of  their  contempt,  —  what  then  ? 


84  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Agony  would  not  let  her  think,  "  What  then  ?  " 
She  must  prevent  the  understanding,  make  the 
confidence  impossible ;  it  must  be  her  business 
to  educate  and  aim  the  contempt. 

How  perseveringly,  craftily,  ably  she  accom- 
plished this !  How  slowly  she  instilled  into  her 
child's  mind  the  cumulative  poison  of  distrust. 
Often  the  innocent  lips  shrank  from  the  bitter 
potion.  One  day  she  might  reject  it.  But  the 
next,  there  was  the  skilful  poisoner,  —  her 
mother. 

"  You  cannot  doubt  me,  Lucy,"  the  woman 
would  say,  looking  aside  as  she  commended  her 
chalice.  "If  it  distresses  you  to  hear  such 
things  of  your  father,  how  much  bitterer  must 
it  be  for  me  to  say  them ! " 

These  pages  again  refuse  to  tolerate  the  de- 
tails of  this  second  crime.  Let  that  too  pass 
behind  the  curtain. 

Closed  doors  then !  for  the  mother  is  at  last 
saying  that  her  husband  has  grown  baser  and 
baser,  —  so  utterly  lost  to  all  sense  of  honor  that 
she  must  exclude  him  from  her  house,  and  that 
her  daughter  must  herself  tell  him  that  she  will 
never  see  him  again. 

Closed  doors,  while  the  innocent  girl  flings 
herself  into  the  guilty  woman's  arms,  and,  weep- 
ing, promises  to  obey. 

Closed  doors,  and  only  God  to  see  and  listen, 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  85 

while  Lucy,  alone  in  her  chamber,  prays  forgive- 
ness for  her  father,  and  pity  for  his  desolate 
and  heart- weary  child. 

Closed  doors  upon  the  picture  of  this  fair  girl, 
worn  out  with  agony  and  asleep.  And  walking 
through  her  dreams  that  grisly  spectre  Sin,  who 
haunts  and  harms  the  nights  and  days  of  those 
who  repel,  hardly  less  cruelly  than  he  haunts 
and  harms  them  who  embrace  him. 

It  was  a  tearful  April  morning  of  1775,  when 
this  final  interview  took  place. 

"  Let  me  understand  this,"  said  Edwin  Broth- 
ertoft,  with  the  calmness  of  a  practised  sufferer. 
"  My  daughter  has  made  up  her  mind  never  to 
see  me  again  ?  " 

"  She  has,"  said  Mrs.  Brothertoft. 

With  what  quiet,  cruel  exultation  she  spoke 
these  words  !  Exultation  mixed  with  terror  for 
the  thought,  "  I  have  schooled  the  girl.  But  she 
may  still  rebel.  She  may  spring  to  him,  and 
throw  herself  into  his  arms,  and  then  the  two 
will  turn  upon  me,  and  point  with  their  fingers, 
and  triumph." 

"  I  cannot  take  my  answer  from  you,  madam," 
he  said. 

"  I  have  no  other  answer  to  give,"  said  Lucy. 

"  None  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  None,"  she  replied. 


86  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Her  coldness  was  the  result  of  utter  bewilder- 
ment and  exhaustion.  It  seemed  to  him  irreme- 
diable hardness  and  coarseness  of  heart. 

**  She  is  her  bad  mother's  base  daughter,"  he 
thought.  "  I  will  think  of  her  no  more." 

Does  this  seem  unnatural  ?  Remember  how 
easily  a  lesser  faith  is  slain,  when  the  first  great 
faith  has  perished.  The  person  trusted  with  the 
whole  heart  proves  a  Lie  ;  then  for  a  time  all 
persons  seem  liars ;  then  for  a  time  the  deceived, 
if  they  are  selfish,  go  cynical ;  if  they  are  gen- 
erous, they  give  their  faith  to  great  causes, 
to  great  ideas,  and  to  impersonal  multitudes. 
Household  treachery  keeps  the  great  army  of 
Reform  recruited. 

"  This  girl,"  thought  Edwin  Brothertoft,  "  can- 
not be  so  blind  as  not  to  know  why  her  mother 
and  I  are  separated.  And  yet  she  chooses  her, 
and  discards  me.  I  knew  that  the  woman  once 
my  wife  could  never  be  my  wife  again.  I  knew 
that  our  lips  could  never  meet,  our  hands  never 
touch.  But  I  hoped  — •  yes,  I  was  weak  enough 
to  hope  —  that,  when  sin  and  sorrow  had  taught 
us  their  lessons,  and  the  day  for  repentance  and 
pardon  came,  W6  might  approach  each  other  in 
the  person  of  our  daughter,  beloved  by  both 
alike.  I  Was  father  and  my  wife  mother  In  the 
honorable  days  gone  by.  Our  child  might  teach 
the  father  and  the  mother  a  different  love,  not  of 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  87 

the  flesh,  but  of  the  spirit.  This  was  my  hope. 
I  let  it  go.  Why  should  I  longer  keep  up  this 
feeble  struggle  with  these  base  people,  who  have 
ruined  my  life  ?  I  have  no  daughter.  I  never 
had  a  wife.  I  forget  the  past.  God  forgive  me 
if  I  abandon  a  duty !  God  give  me  opportunity, 
if  he  wills  that  I  ever  resume  it  again  ! " 

As  he  walked  Up  Wall  Street,  moodily  re- 
flecting after  this  fashion,  he  heard  a  voice  call 
him. 

"  Mr.  Brothertoft !  " 

This  hail  came  from  the  nose  of  a  hurried 
person  who  had  just  turned  the  corner  of  Smith 
—  now  William  —Street,  and  was  making  for 
the  wife's  house,  when  he  saw  the  husband. 

"  Mr.  Brothertoft ! "  twanged  sharp  after  the 
retreating  figure.  There  was  an  odd  mixture 
of  alarm  and  triumph  in  these  nasal  notes. 

"  Call  me  by  some  other  name  !  "  said  the  one 
addressed,  turning.  "  What  you  please,  but 
never  that  again." 

"  Waal !  "  says  the  other,  speaking  Bostonee, 
through  a  nose  high  Boston,  "  you  might  n't  like 
my  taste  in  baptism,  so  I'll  call  you  Cap'n, — 
that 's  safe.  Cap'n,"  he  continued  in  a  thrilling 
whisper,  through  that  hautboy  he  played  on, 
"  Cap'n,  we've  shed  and  drawed  the  fust  blood 
fur  Independence.  Aperel  19  wuz  the  day. 
Lexington  wuz  wher  we  shed.  Coriicud  wuz 


88  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

wher  we  drawed.  Naow,  if  you'll  jest  pint  and 
poot  fur  Bosting,  you  '11  pint  and  poot  fur  a  lo- 
cality wher  considdable  phlebotomy  is  ter  be 
expected  baout  theso  times,  and  wher  Patriots 
is  wanted  jest  as  fast  as  they  can  pile  in." 

Clang  out  your  alarums,  bells  of  Trinity ! 
others  may  need  awakening.  Not  he  who  was 
named  Edwin  Brothertoft.  He  is  gone  already  to 
fight  in  the  old,  old  battle  —  forever  old,  forever 
new  —  of  freedom  against  tyranny,  of  the  new 
thoughts  against  the  old  facts. 

"  So  your  husband 's  on  his  way  to  get  himself 
shot  or  hung.  And  a  good  riddance,  I  suppose, 
Madam  B.,"  said  coarse  Sir  Harry. 

"The  beautiful  widow  will  not  cry  her  eyes 
out,"  said  My  Lord  with  his  usual  sneer. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  writhed  a  little  under  this 
familiarity. 

Like  many  another,  who  says,  "Deteriora  se- 
quar"  she  wished  to  go  to  the  bad  with  a  stately 
step  and  queenly  mien.  That  is  not  permitted 
by  the  eternal  laws.  Ah,  miserable  woman  !  she 
was  taught  to  feel  how  much  the  gentleman 
she  had  betrayed  was  above  the  coarse  asso- 
ciates she  had  chosen. 

She  missed  him,  now  that  he  was  gone  irrevo- 
cably. 

Had  there  been  then  in  her  heart  any  relics  of 
the  old  love?  Had  she  cherished  some  vague 


EDWIN  BROTHER! OFT.  89 

purpose  of  repentance,  some  thought  of  tears, 
some  hope  of  pardon  ? 

Had  her  torture  of  her  husband  been  only  a 
penance  for  herself?  Was  it  the  hate  which  is 
so  akin  to  love  ?  Could  this  be  a  self-hatred  for 
a  self  that  has  wasted  the  power  of  loving,  —  a 
hate  that  is  forever  wreaking  vengeance  for  this 
sad  lo'ss  upon  the  object  the  heart  most  longs  to 
love,  —  the  only  one  that  can  remind  that  heart 
of  its  impotency  ?  Had  she  been  acting  uncon- 
sciously by  the  laws  of  such  a  passion  ? 

And  this  exasperating  influence  banished, 
would  she  have  peace  at  last?  Would  the 
Furies  let  her  alone  ?  Would  the  hints  of  mur- 
der vanish  and  be  still  ?  Would  she  be  a  free 
woman,  now,  to  follow  out  her  purposes  ? 

Edwin  Brothertoft  had  disappeared.  Deserters 
from  the  rebel  army  could  give  no  news  of  such 
a  person. 

Julia  Peartree  Smith  often  suggested  to  her 
friend  the  welcome  thought  that  he  was  dead. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  could  not  believe  it.  Some- 
thing whispered  her  that  there  would  be  another 
act  in  the  drama  of  her  married  life. 


PART    II, 


I. 


BUFF  and  Blue. 

Dear,  faithful  old  colors !  They  never  appeared 
more  brave  and  trusty  than  in  Major  Skerrett's 
coat,  —  a  coat  of  1777. 

"  White  at  the  seams  of  the  blue,  soiled  at  the 
edges  of  the  buff,"  said  the  Major,  inspecting 
himself  in  a  triangular  bit  of  looking-glass.  "  I 
must  have  a  new  one,  if  I  can  find  a  tailor  who 
will  take  an  order  on  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  in 
pay.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Birdsell." 

This  salutation  he  gave  as  he  passed  out  of  the 
little  house  in  Fishkill  where  he  had  been  quar- 
tered last  night. 

"  Good  mornin',  Sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Birdsell, 
rushing  out  of  her  kitchen,  with  a  rolling-pin  in 
hand,  and  leaving  her  pie-crust  flat  on  its  back, 
all  dotted  witli  dabs  of  butter,  as  an  ermine  cape 
is  with  little  black  tails. 

She  looked  after  him,  as  he  stepped  out  into  the 
village  street.  Her  first  emotion  was  feminine 
admiration,  —  her  second,  feminine  curiosity. 


94  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  What  a  beautiful  young  man !  "  she  said  to 
her  respectable  self.  "  Sech  legs  !  Sech  hair, 
— jest  the  color  of  ripe  chesnut  burrs,  —  only  I 
don't  like  that  streak  of  it  on  his  upper  lip. 
I  've  olluz  understood  from  Deacons  that  the 
baird  of  a  man  cum  in  with  Adam's  fall  and  waz 
to  be  shaved  off.  Naow  I  'd  give  a  hul  pie  to 
know  what  Gineral  Washington 's  sent  him  on 
here  for.  It's  the  greatest  kind  of  a  pity  he 
did  n't  come  a  few  days  before.  That  old  granny, 
Gineral  Putnam,  would  n't  hev  let  Sirr  Henery 
Clinton  grab  them  forts  down  to  the  Highlands, 
if  he  'd  hed  sech  a  young  man  as  this  to  look 
arter  him  and  spry  him  up." 

Before  he  continued  his  walk,  Major  Skerrett 
paused  a  moment  for  a  long  hearty  draught  of 
new  October, — new  American,  a  finer  tipple  than 
old  English  October. 

Finer  and  cheaper !    In  fact  it  was  on  free  tap. 

No  cask  to  bore.  No  spigot  ta  turn.  No 
pewter  pot  to  fill.  Major  Skerrett  had  but  to 
open  his  mouth  and  breathe.  He  inhaled,  and 
he  had  swallowed  Science  knows  how  many 
quarts  of  that  mellow  golden  nectar,  the  air  of 
an  American  October  morning.  It  was  the  per- 
fection of  potables, — as  much  so  then  in  1777, 
as  it  is  now  in  1860. 

"  I  have  seen  the  lands  of  many  men,  and 
drained  their  taps,"  soliloquized  the  Major,  paro- 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  95 

dying  the  Odyssey;  "but  never,  in  the,  bottle 
or  out  of  the  bottle,  tasted  I  such  divine  stuff 
as  this.  0  lilies  and  roses,  what  a  bouquet !  0 
peaches  and  pippins,  what  a  flavor!  0  hickory- 
nuts  and  chinkapins,  what  an  aroma !  More, 
Hebe,  more  !  Let  me  swig  !  — forgive  the  word ! 
But  one  drinks  pints  ;  and  I  want  gallons,  pun- 
cheons." 

While  he  is  indulging  in  this  harmless  de- 
bauch, let  Mrs.  Birdsell's  question,  "  What  did 
General  Washington  send  him  on  for  ? "  be 
answered. 

"  Peter,"  said  Washington  familiarly  to  Major 
Skerrett,  his  aide-de-camp,  "  I  have  written  pe- 
remptorily several  times  to  General  Putnam  to 
send  me  reinforcements.  They  do  not  come." 

The  chief  was  evidently  somewhat  in  the  dumps 
there  at  his  camp,  near  Pennibecker's  Mill,  on 
the  Perkiomy  Creek,  twenty  miles  from  Phila- 
delphia, at  the  end  of  September,  1777. 

"  I  suppose,"  the  Major  suggested,  "  that  Put- 
nam cannot  get  out  of  his  head  his  idle  scheme 
for  the  recapture  of  New  York,  —  that  <  suicidal 
parade,'  as  Aleck  Hamilton  calls  it." 

"  I  must  have  the  men.  Our  miserable  busi- 
ness of  the  Brandywine  must  be  done  over." 

"  Yes  ;  Sir  William  Howe  is  bored  enough 
in  Philadelphia  by  this  time.  Everybody  always 
is  there.  It  would  be  only  the  courtesy  of  war 


96  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

to  challenge  him  out,  and  then  beat  hirn  away 
to  jollier  quarters." 

"  I  do  not  like  to  challenge  him  unless  I  have 
a  couple  of  thousand  more  men.  You  must 
take  a  little  ride,  Major,  up  to  Old  Put  at  Peeks- 
kill,  and  see  that  they  start." 

"  The  soldier  obeys.  But  he  sighs  that  he 
may  miss  a  battle  or  an  adventure." 

"  Adventures  sprout  under  the  heels  of  knights- 
errant  like  you,  Peter.  Peekskill  is  not  many 
miles  away  from  the  spot  of  one  of  my  young 
romances." 

The  noble  old  boy  paused  an  instant,  senti- 
mental with  the  recollection  of  handsome  Mary 
Phillipse  and  nineteen  years  ago. 

"  The  men  will  come  like  drawing  teeth," 
he  resumed.  "  Old  Put  is  —  what  was  that  Latin 
phrase  you  used  about  him  to  Lafayette  the  other 
day  ?  " 

"  Tenax  propositi, "  Skerrett  replied. 

"  Anglice,  obstinate  as  a  mule.  Ah,  Skerrett! 
we  poor  land-surveyors,  that  had  to  lug  levels 
and  compasses  through  the  woods,  know  little 
Latin  and  less  Greek.  But  there  was  more  of 
your  quotation,  to  express  the  valuable  side  of 
Putnam's  character." 

"Nee  vultus  instantis  tyranni,  Mente  quatit 
fiolida,"  quoted  the  Major;  and  then  translated 
impromptu,  "Never  a  scowl,  o'er  tyrant's  jowl, 
His  stiff  old  heart  can  shake." 


EDWIN   BEOTHEKTOFT.  97 

Washington  laughed.  Skerrett  laughed  loud- 
«i.  He  was  at  that  ebullient  age  when  life  is 
letting  off  its  overcharge  of  laughter.  Young 
fellows  at  that  period  are  a  bore  or  an  exhilara- 
tion ;  —  a  bore,  to  say  the  least,  if  their  animal 
spirits  are  brutal  spirits,  —  no  bore,  even  if  not 
quite  the  ripest  company,  provided  their  glee 
does  not  degenerate  into  uproar. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do,  Peter,  in  these 
dark  times,  without  your  irrepressible  good  spir- 
its," said  the  chief.  "  My  boys  —  you  and  Hamil- 
ton and  Lafayette  and  Harry  Lee  —  keep  me  up. 
I  get  tired  to  death  of  the  despondencies  and 
prejudices  and  jealousies  of  some  of  these  old  wo- 
men in  breeches  who  wear  swords  or  cast  votes." 

"  Perhaps  you  cannot  spare  me  then  to  go  to 
Peekskill,"  the  Major  said,  slyly. 

His  Country's  Father  smiled.  "  Be  off,  my 
boy;  but  don't  stay  too  long.  Your  head  will 
be  worth  more  to  Old  Put  than  a  regiment. 
He 's  growing  old.  He  shows  the  effects  of 
tough  campaigning  in  his  youth.  Besides,  keep- 
ing a  tavern  was  not  the  best  business  for  a  man 
of  his  convivial  habits." 

"  We  youngsters  found  that  out  at  the  siege 
of  Boston,  when  you,  General,  were  keeping  your 
head  cool  on  baked  apples  and  milk." 

"  I  ate  'em  because  I  liked  'em,  my  boy.  My 
head  keeps  itself  cool.  By  the  way,  you  will  bo 


98  EDWIN   BEOTHERTOFT. 

able  to  help  General  Putnam  with  that  hot-tem- 
pered La  Radiere.  The  old  gentleman  never 
can  forget  how  the  Frenchmen  and  their  Indians 
mangled  him  in  Canada  in  '58." 

"  He  never  can  let  anybody  else  forget  it.  1 
would  give  odds  that  he  '11  offer  to  tell  that  story 
before  I  've  been  with  him  fifteen  minutes." 

"  Well,  good  bye !  Hurry  on  the  regulars ! 
Let  him  call  in  the  militia  in  their  places  !  Tell 
him  he  must  hold  the  Highlands !  If  he  cannot 
keep  Sir  Henry  Clinton  back  until  Gates  takos 
Jack  Burgoyne,  you  and  I,  Peter,  will  have  tc 
paint  ourselves  vermilion  and  join  the  Tusca- 
roras." 

After  such  a  talk  with  our  chief,  —  who  was 
not  the  stilted  prig  that  modern  muffs  have  made 
him,  —  Major  Skerrett  departed  on  his  mission. 
He  left  head-quarters  a  few  days  before  that  hit- 
and-miss  battle  of  Germantown. 

Skerrett  was  young  and  a  hard  rider.  He 
lamed  his  horse  the  first  day.  He  lost  time  in 
getting  another.  It  was  the  evening  of  October 
eighth,  when,  as  he  approached  the  North  River 
to  cross  to  Peekskill,  the  country  people  warned 
him  back  with  the  news  that  on  the  sixth  Sir 
Henry  Clinton  had  taken  the  Highland  forts, 
and  Putnam  had  run  away  to  Fishkill. 

"  Black  news !  "  thought  Skerrett.  "  General 
Washington  will  turn  Tuscarora  now,  if  ever." 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  99 

Skerrett  made  a  circuit  northward,  crossed  the 
Hudson  at  Newburgh,  and  reported  to  General 
Putnam,  October  9,  sunset,  at  the  Van  Wyck 
farm-house,  on  the  plain,  half  a  mile  north  of  the 
Fishkill  Mountains.  The  heights  rose  in  front,  a 
rampart  a  thousand  feet  high. 

Old  Put  limped  out  to  meet  Washington's 
aide-de-camp.  He  was  a  battered  veteran,  lame 
with  a  fractured  thigh,  stiff  with  coming  paraly- 
sis and  now  despondent  after  recent  blunders. 

"Dusky  times,  Skerrett,"  says  he,  forlornly. 
"  I  suppose  the  Chief  sent  you  for  men.  He 's 
a  cannibal  after  human  flesh.  But  don't  worry 
me  to-night.  To-morrow  we  're  to  have  a  Coun- 
cil of  War,  and  I'll  see  what  can  be  done.  I 
suppose  you  know  what 's  happened." 

"  Yes,  —  generally." 

"  Well ;  it 's  all  clear  for  Clinton  to  go  up  and 
join  that  mountebank,  Jack  Burgoyne.  I  might 
just  as  well  go  home,  and  set  up  tahvern  again  to 
Pomfret  for  anything  I  can  do  here.  God  save 
the  King  is  going  to  make  Yankee  Doodle  sing 
small  from  yesterday  on.  It  was  all  the  fault  of 
that  cursed  fog, — we  had  a  fog,  thick  as  mush, 
all  day  on  the  sixth.  I  believe  them  British 
ships  brought  it  with  'em  in  bags,  from  the  Chan- 
nel. They  chocked  up  the  river  with  their  fog, 
and  while  I  was  waitin'  for  'em  over  to  Peekskill, 
they  crep  across  and  took  the  forts.  Darii  it 
all!" 


100  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Putnam  paused  to  take  an  indignant  breath. 
Skerrett  smiled  at  the  old  hero's  manner.  When 
he  was  excited,  the  Yankeeisms  of  his  youth 
came  back  to  him.  His  lisp  also  grew  more 
decided.  Nobody  knows  whether  the  lisp  was 
natural,  or  artificial,  and  caused  by  a  jaw-breaker 
with  the  butt  of  a  musket  he  got  from  an  uncivil 
Gaul  at  Fort  Ti  in  '58.  His  Yankeeisms,  his 
lisp,  his  drollery,  his  muddy  schemes,  made  the 
jolly  old  boy  the  chief  comic  character  of  our 
early  Revolutionary  days. 

"  How  Jack  Burgoyne  will  stick  out  that  great 
under-lip  of  his,  —  the  ugly  pelican  !  "  continued 
old  Put,  "  when  he  hears  of  this.  He  '11  stop 
fightin',  while  he  goes  at  his  proper  trade,  and 
writes  a  farce  with  a  Yankee  in  it,  who  '11  never 
say  anything  but,  '  I  veouw  !  By  dollars,  we  're 
chawed  up ! ' ' 

"  Don't  you  remember,  General,"  says  Sker- 
rett, "  how  Bunker  Hill  interrupted  the  acting 
of  a  farce  of  his  ?  Perhaps  Gates  will  make  him 
pout  his  lip,  as  he  did  when  he  saw  you  pointing 
the  old  mortar  Congress  at  him  and  Boston  from 
Prospect  Hill.  Don't  you  recollect?  We  saw 
him  with  a  spy-glass,  and  you  said  he  looked  like 
a  pelican  with  a  mullet  in  his  pouch.  By  the 
way,  where  did  you  ever  see  pelicans  ? " 

"  When  I  was  down  to  take  Cuba  in  '62,  and 
we  did  n't  take  it.  I  '11  tell  you  the  story  when 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  101 

1  feel  brighter.  We  were  wrecked,  and  had  not 
a  thing  but  pelicans  to  eat  for  two  days,  —  and 
fishy  grub  they  are  !  " 

"  Well,  we  must  not  despair,"  says  Skerrett, 
cheerily,  seeing  that  the  old  brave  began  to 
brighten. 

"  Dethpair  ?  "  lisped  Putnam,  "  who  's  a  goin' 
to  despair  ?  I  tell  you,  my  boy,  you  '11  eat  a 
Connecticut  puukin-pie  with  me,  yet,  in  peace 
and  Pomfret.  I  wish  we  had  one  now,  for 
supper." 

"  There  's  raw  material  enough  about,"  Sker- 
rett said,  glancing  at  the  piles  of  that  pomaceous 
berry  which  wallowed  among  the  corn  shocks 
and  smiled  at  the  sugary  sunset. 

"  Yes ;  but  this  is  York  State,  and  punkin- 
pies  off  their  native  Connecticut  soil  are  always 
a  mushy  mess,  or  else  tough  as  buckskin.  Never 
mind,  my  boy,  we  '11  sit  every  man  under  his  own 
corn-stalk,  on  his  own  squash,  and  whistle  Yan- 
kee Doodle  and  call  it  macaroni,  yet.  It  don't 
look  half  so  dark  to  me  now  as  it  did  in  the  Ti- 
conderogy  times.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  the  story 
how  the  Frenchmen  and  their  cussed  Indians 
mauled  me  there  ?  " 

"  It 's  coining.  I  knew  it  would,"  thought 
Peter,  at  the  beginning  of  this  sentence,  "  and  I 
did  not  bring  any  cotton  to  plug  my  ears !  " 

"  Well,"  continued  Put,  without   waiting  for 


102  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

his  companion's  answer,  "  I  shall  have  to  tell  my 
tale  another  time,  for  here  comes  my  orderly, 
with  papers  to  sign.  You  remember  Sergeant 
Lincoln,  don't  you,  Skerrett  ?  " 

"  I  should  not  remember  much  in  this  world, 
if  he  had  not  saved  my  life  and  my  memory  for 
me.  Shall  I  tell  you  my  story,  short  ?  Scene  I. 
Bunker  Hill.  A  British  beggar  with  a  baggonet 
makes  a  point  at  Peter  Skerrett's  rebel  buttons 
on  his  left  breast.  Rebel  Sergeant  Lincoln  twigs, 
describes  a  circle  with  a  musket's  butt.  Scene 
II.  Bunker  Hill.  A  British  beggar  on  his  back 
sees  stars  and  points  upward  with  his  baggonet 
at  those  brass  buttons  on  the  blue  sky.  In  the 
distance  two  pairs  of  heels  are  seen,  —  these," 
says  Peter,  lifting  his  own,  "  and  yours,  Sergeant 
Lincoln.  And  that 's  what  I  call  a  model  story." 

"  Ne  quid  nimis,  certainly.  Not  a  word  to 
spare,  Sir,"  says  the  Sergeant,  taking  Peter's 
proffered  hand. 

He  was  a  slender,  quiet,  elderly  man.  Per- 
haps prematurely  aged  by  care  or  campaigning 
or  a  wound,  rather  than  old.  He  handed  his 
papers  to  the  General,  and  withdrew. 

"  I  guess  I  've  got  the  only  orderly  in  the  Con- 
tinental Army  that  can  talk  Latin,"  says  Put, 
proud  as  if  this  possession  made  a  Julius  Caesar 
of  himself.  "  Lincoln  must  have  boon  a  school- 
master before  he  'listed." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  103 

"  There  's  no  flavor  of  birch  about  him,"  Sker- 
rett  rejoined.  "  Perhaps  he  stepped  out  of  a 
pulpit  to  take  the  sword." 

"  He  don't  '  handle  the  sword  very  kindly. 
He  's  brave  enough." 

"  But  not  bloody,"  interjected  Peter. 

"  No.  There  's  men  enough  that  can  squint 
along  a  barrel,  and  drop  a  redcoat,  and  sing  out, 
'  Hooray  !  another  bully  gone  ! '  —  but  not  many, 
like  my  orderly,  that  can  tell  you  why  a  redcoat 
has  got  to  be  a  bully,  and  why  we  're  doing  our 
duty  to  God  and  man  by  a  droppin'  on  'em.  I 
tell  you,  he  in  the  ranks  to  keep  up  the  men's 
sperits  is  wuth  more  than  generals  I  could  name 
with  big  appleettes  on  their  backs." 

"  Is  that  the  reason  why  he  stays  in  the  ranks, 
and  does  not  ask  for  epaulettes  ?  " 

"  He  might  have  had  them  long  ago  ;  but  he  's 
shy  of  standing  up  for  himself.  I  guess  he  's 
some  time  or  other  ben  wownded  in  his  mind,  and 
all  the  impudence  has  run  out  at  the  wownd." 

"  Liberty,  preserve  me  from  such  phleboto- 
my !  "  devoutly  ejaculated  Peter.  "  But  has  the 
Sergeant  been  with  you  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  With  my  division.  But  I  did  not  have  him 
writh  me  in  Westchester.  I  stationed  him  hero 
to  look  after  the  stores,  and  put  recruits  through 
the  motions.  Now,  Major,  I  must  look  at  these 
papers.  Come  to  the  Council  of  War  to-morrow, 


10-4  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

and  give  us  a  good  word.  We  shall  want  all  we 
can  get.  The  news  gets  worse  and  worse.  This 
very  morning  General  Tryon  —  spiteful  dog  — 
has  been  marauding  this  side  of  Peekskill,  and 
burning  up  a  poor  devil  of  a  village  at  the  lower 
edge  of  the  Highlands." 

"  Arson  is  shabby  warfare,"  said  Peter,  taking 
leave. 


II. 

IT  was  in  the  Skerrett  blood  to  come  out  red 
at  a  pinch. 

"Things  do  look  a  little  dusky  for  the  good 
cause,"  thought  Skerrett,  as,  wearing  his  buff 
and  blue  coat,  —  far  too  dull  a  coat  for  so  bright 
a  fellow,  —  he  stood  drinking  October  next  morn- 
ing, as  we  have  seen  him,  before  Mrs.  BirdselPs 
cottage. 

"  The  Liberty-tree  is  a  little  nipped,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  suppose  all  the  worni-eaten  people 
will  drop  off  now.  Let  'em  go !  and  be  food  for 
pigs !  We  sound  chestnuts  will  stick  to  the 
boughs,  and  wear  our  burrs  till  Thanksgiving. 

"  Fine  figure  that !  quite  poetic !  Who  would 
n't  be  a  poet  in  such  a  poem  of  a  morning  ?  0 
Luculhis,  you  base  old  glutton,  with  your  feasts 
and  your  emetics !  see  here,  how  I  breathe  and 
blow,  breathe  and  blow,  —  that's  a  dodge  you 
were  not  up  to ! 

"  Hooray  !  now  I  'm  full  of  gold  air  and  go- 
ahead  spirits." 

He  marched  off,  —  the  gallant,  buoyant  young 

6* 


106  EDWIN  BROTIIERTOFT. 

brave.  No  finer  figure  of  a  Rebel  walked  the 
Continental  soil  unhung.  On  his  nut-brown 
face  his  blonde  moustache  lay  lovingly  curling. 

The  Marquis  de  Chastellux,  the  chief,  if  not 
the  only,  authority  on  the  Revolutionary  mous- 
tache, does  not  specify  Skerrett's  in  his  "  Trav- 
els in  America."  The  distinction  might  have 
been  invidious.  But  it  was  understood  that, 
take  it  "  by  and  large,"  color  and  curl,  Sker- 
rett's  was  the  Moustache  (with  a  big  M)  of  its 
era.  Many  brother  officers  shaved  in  despair 
when  they  beheld  it.  Hence,  perhaps,  the  num- 
ber of  shorn  lips  iu  the  portraits  of  our  heroes 
of  that  time. 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen  to-day," 
thought  the  Major.  "  I  bubble.  I  shall  boil 
over,  and  make  a  fool  of  myself  before  night. 
I  am  in  that  ridiculous  mood  when  a  man  loves 
his  neighbor  as  himself,  believes  in  success,  wants 
to  tilt  at  windmills.  0  October !  you  have  in- 
toxicated me !  I  challenge  the  world.  Hold 
me,  somebody,  or  I  shall  jump  over  the  High- 
lands and  take  Sir  Henry  Clinton  by  the  hair, 
then  up  to  Saratoga  and  pick  up  Jack  Bur- 
goyne,  knock  their  pates  together,  and  fling  them 
over  the  Atlantic." 

A  man's  legs  gallop  when  his  blood  and  spirits 
are  boiling  after  such  a  fashion.  It  did  not  take 
the  Major  any  considerable  portion  of  eternity 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  107 

to  measure  off  the  furlongs  of  cultivated  plain 
between  Fishkill  village  and  Putnam's  head-quar- 
ters. In  fact,  he  had  need  to  despatch.  He  had 
slept  late  after  his  journey.  The  Council  would 
be  assembled,  and  already  muddling  their  brains 
over  the  situation. 

The  Van  Wyck  farm-house  stood,  and  still 
stands,  with  its  flank  to  the  road  and  its  front  to 
the  Highlands. 

"Not  much  clank  and  pomp  and  pageantry 
in  this  army  of  Israel  Putnam,"  thought  Sker- 
rett.  "  No  tents  !  Men  are  barracked  in  barns, 
I  suppose,  or  sleep  under  corn-stalks,  with  pump- 
kins for  pillows.  No  sentinels  !  But  probably 
every  man  keeps  his  eyes  peeled  and  his  ears 
pricked  up  for  the  tramp  of  British  brogans  or 
Hessian  boots  on  the  soil." 

There  was,  however,  a  sentry  standing  at  the 
unhinged  gate  in  the  decimated  paling  of  the 
farm-yard. 

He  turned  his  back,  and  paced  to  the  end  of 
his  beat,  as  Major  Skerrett  approached. 

"  Aha !  "  thought  the  latter,  "  Jierck  Dewitt 
is  as  quick-sighted  as  ever.  He  wants  to  dodge 
me.  Poor  fellow  !  Bottle  has  got  him  again,  I 
fear.  Why  can't  man  be  satisfied  with  atmos- 
phere, and  cut  alcohol  ?  " 

Skerrett  entered  the  gate,  and  hailed, "  Jierck  1 " 

The  sentinel  turned  and  saluted. 


108  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

A  clear  case  of  Bottle  !  The  Colony  of  Ja- 
maica was  a  more  important  ally  to  Great 
Britain  in  the  Revolution  than  is  generally 
known.  Ah!  if  people  would  only  take  their 
rum  latent  in  its  molasses,  and  pour  out  their 
undistilled  toddies  on  their  buckwheat  cakes ! 

"  Jierck,"  said  the  Major  kindly,  "  you  prom- 
ised me  you  woiild  not  touch  it." 

"  So  I  did,"  says  the  man,  inflicting  on  him- 
self the  capital  punishment  of  hanging  his  head  ; 
"  and  I  kep  stiff  as  the  Lord  Chancellor,  till  I 
got  back  home  to  Peekskill  below  here.  There 
I  found  my  wife  had  gone  wrong." 

The  poor  fellow  choked.  A  bad  wife  is  a 
black  dose. 

"  We  grew  up  together,  sir,  on  the  Brothertoft 
Manor  lands.  She  was  a  Bilsby,  one  of  the  old 
families,  —  as  brisk  and  bright  a  gal  as  ever 
stepped.  We  were  married,  and  travelled  just 
right,  she  alongside  of  me,  and  I  alongside  of 
her,  pullin'  well  and  keepin'  everything  drawin'. 
Well,  when  I  shouldered  arms,  Lady  Brother- 
toft  —  that's  the  Patroon's  widow  —  got  my  wife 
to  go  down  to  York  and  be  her  maid.  It  was 
lettin'  down  for  Squire  Dewitt's  son's  wife  to 
eat  in  anybody's  kitchen.  But  that's  noth- 
ing. The  harm  is  that  Lady  Brothertoft's  house 
is  unlucky.  Women  don't  go  into  it  and  stay 
straight.  There  's  too  much  red  in  the  parlors,  — 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  109 

too  many  redcoats  round.  They  say  that 's  why 
the  Patroon  cleared  out,  and  got  himself  killed, 
if  he  is  killed.  That 's  what  spoilt  my  wife." 

Skerrett's  supernatural  spirits  sank  a  little  at 
this.  There  was  an  undeveloped  true  lover  in 
the  young  man, — developed  enough  to  show  him 
what  misery  may  come  from  such  a  wrong  as 
Jierck's. 

"  That 's  why  I  took  to  rum,"  continued  the 
man,  dismally.  "  When  my  company  was  or- 
dered to  join  Old  Put  at  Peekskill,  and  I  saw  all 
the  old  places  where  my  wife  and  I  used  to  do 
our  courtin',  and  saw  my  sister  Kate  smilin'  at 
her  sweetheart  and  makin'  comforters  for  him,  I 
could  n't  stand  it.  They  all  told  me  to  keep 
away  from  the  woman.  But  I  did  n't  quite  be- 
lieve it,  you  know.  So  I  went  down  to  the 
Manor-House  and  saw  her.  She  did  n't  dare  to 
look  me  in  the  face.  That  had  to  be  drownded 
somehow.  I  drownded  it  in  rum.  I  can't  get 
drunk  like  a  beast,  —  that  is  n't  into  me,  —  but  I 
have  n't  been  sober  one  hour  since  until  we 
came  up  here  to  Fishkill." 

"  Stop  it  now,  Jierck,  and  try  to  forget." 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  " 

"  The  use  is  this.  We  were  all  proud  of  you, 
as  a  crack  man.  We  cannot  spare  you.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  what  we  are  fighting  for. 
The  Cause  cannot  spare  you.  Stand  to  your 


llO  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

i$uns  now,  like  a  man,  against  King  George  and 
Old  Jamaica." 

The  sentinel  was  manned  by  these  hearty 
words  and  tones. 

"  I  '11  try,"  said  he,  "  to  please  you,  Major 
Skerrett." 

Up  went  his  head  and  his  courage. 

"  That 's  right,"  says  the  Major  ;  "  and  we  '11 
have  a  fling  at  the  enemy  together  before  I  go, 
and  spike  a  gun  for  him." 

"  I  must  take  another  sip  of  October,  after 
that,"  thought  Skerrett,  as  he  walked  on  toward 
the  farm-house. 

He  halted  on  the  steps,  and  inspected  the 
scene. 

October  was  quite  as  gorgeous  to  see,  as  it  was 
glorious  to  tipple.  It  was  in  the  Skerrett  blood 
to  love  color. 

"  Color  !  0  blazes,  what  a  conflagration  of  a 
landscape  !  "  thought  the  Major ;  "  0  rainbows, 
what  delicious  blending !  V.  I.  B.  G.  Y.  0.  R. 
Violet  hills  far  away,  indigo  zenith,  blue  sky  on 
the  hill-tops,  green  pastures,  yellow  elms,  chest- 
nuts, and  ashes,  orange  pumpkins,  red  maples ! 
Flames !  Rainbows  !  Splendors  !  Take  my  blood, 
0  my  dear  country  !  and  cheap,  too,  for  such  a 
pageant !  " 

There  were  two  parts  to  the  scene  he  was  re- 
garding with  this  exhilaration,  —  a  flat  part  and 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 


in 


an  upright  part.  All  around  was  a  great  scope 
of  fertile  plain,  gerrymandered  into  farms.  Half 
a  mile  away  in  front,  the  sudden  mountains  set 
up  their  backs  to  show  their  many-colored  gaber- 
dines, crimson,  purple,  and  gold  at  the  bottom 
flounce,  belted  with  different  shades  of  the  same 
in  regular  gradation  above,  and  sprigged  all  over 
with  pines  and  cedars,  green  as  May. 

The  morning  sun  winked  at  the  Major  over 
the  summits,  saying,  as  plain  as  a  wink  can  speak, 
"  Beat  this,  my  Skerrett,  in  any  clime,  on  any 
continent,  if  you  can  !  " 

The  Major,  with  both  his  eyes^  blinked  back 
ecstatically,  "  It  can't  be  beat !  0  Sol !  It  can't 
be  beat ! " 

When  he  opened  his  dazzled  eyes,  and  glanced 
again  about  him,  he  seemed  to  see  thousands  of 
little  suns  rollicking  over  the  fields,  and  congeries 
of  suns  piling  themselves  like  golden  bombs  here 
and  there.  They  were  not  suns,  but  pumpkins, 
rollicking  in  the  furrows,  and  every  congeries  was 
a  heap  of  the  same,  putting  their  plump  cheeks 
together  and  playing  "  sugar  my  neighbor." 

"  We  must  keep  war  out  of  this,"  thought  the 
Major.  "  Nerve  my  good  right  arm,  0  Liberty, 
to  protect  this  pie-patch !  " 

His  earnest  prayer  was  disturbed  by  the  sound 
of  voices  close  at  hand. 

Immediately  Sergeant  Lincoln  appeared  at  the 


. 

112  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

corner  of  the  house.  A  wondrously  wiggy  negro 
accompanied  him. 

"  Make  way  for  the  Lord  Chancellor ! "  says 
Skerrett  to  himself,  as  this  gray-headed,  dusky 
dignitary  loomed  up.  "  If  I  am  ever  elected 
Judge,  I  shall  take  that  old  fellow's  scalp  for  a 
wig.  And  his  manners,  too!  He  seems  to  be 
laying  down  the  law  to  the  Sergeant,  so  flat  that 
it  will  never  stir  again.  Mysterious  fellow,  this 
orderly  who  quotes  Latin  !  I  'd  like  to  solve  him, 
and  offer  him  sympathy,  if  he  has  had  the '  wownd ' 
old  Put  talks  of.  I  owe  him  a  cure  for  saving 
me  from  a  kill." 

The  two  passed  by,  in  eager  conversation. 
Skerrett  turned,  and  entered  the  farm-house, 
where  the  officers  of  Putnam's  army  were  sigh- 
ing over  blunders  past,  and  elaborating  schemes 
for  the  future. 

Peter's  seedy  coat  was  freshness  and  elegance 
compared  to  the  scarecrow  uniforms  it  now 
encountered.  Our  Revolutionary  officers  were 
braves  at  heart,  but  mostly  Guys  in  costume. 


III. 

"  Ah  mon  camarade  !  ma  belle  Moustache ! 
My  Petare  !  "  cried  Colonel  La  Radiere,  as  Sker- 
rett  entered.  "  Soyez  le  bienvenu !  " 

The  ardent  Parisian  officer  of  engineers  rushed 
forward,  and  embraced  his  young  friend  with  ef- 
fusion. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Peter ! "  says  Captain  Liv- 
ingston, a  dry  follow,  son  of  the  Patroon.  "  Now, 
Radiere,  there's  a  second  man  who  talks  French, 
to  fire  back  your  sacrebleus.  Moi  et  Anthony's 
Nose  sommes  fatigues  a  vousfaire  echo." 

"  Come,  boys,"  says  old  Put,  "  talk  Continen- 
tal!" 

The  other  officers  in  turn  made  Skerrett 
welcome,  and  the  business  of  brewing  blunders 
went  on. 

Does  any  one  want  a  historic  account  of  that 
Council  of  War,  and  what  it  did  not  do  ? 

The  want  is  easily  supplied.  Rap  for  the  spirit 
of  Colonel  Humphreys,  then  late  of  Derby,  Con- 
necticut, late  of  Yale  College,  late  tutor  at  Phil- 
lipse-Manor.  He  was  Putnam's  aide,  and  wrote 


114  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

his  biography.  He  was  an  inexorable  poetaster. 
He  was  afterwards  pompous  gold-stick  to  Mr. 
President  Washington.  He  went  as  Plenipo  to 
Madrid,  returned,  became  a  model  of  deportment, 
and  was  known  to  his  countrymen  as  the  Ambas- 
sador from  Derby. 

(Raps  are  heard.  Enter  the  Ghost  of  Hum- 
phreys. 

"  Now  then,  Ghost,  talk  short  and  sharp,  not, 
as  you  used  to,  —  to  borrow  two  favorite  words 
of  yours,  —  sesquipedalian  and  stentorophonic  ! 
Tell  us  what  was  done  at  that  council,  and  be 
spry  about  it !  " 

"  Young  Sir,  I  shall  report  your  impertinence 
to  George  Washington  and  Christopher  Columbus 
in  Elysium.  Christopher  will  say,  '  Founder  the 
continent ! '  George  will  say,  '  Perish  the  coun- 
try ! '  if  its  youth  have  drawn  in  and  absorbed 
their  bump  of  reverence." 

"0,  belay  that,  old  boy!  Tell  us  what  you 
did  at  the  Council !  " 

"  Nothing,  your  nineteenth-centuryship  !  "  re- 
sponds Ghost,  quelled  and  humble.  "  We  pon- 
dered, and  propounded,  and  finally  concluded  to 
do  nothing,  aiid  let  the  enemy  make  the  next 
move." 

"  Which  lie  proceeded  to  do  by  sending  up 
General  Vaughan  to  burn  Kingston.  That's 
nough  !  Avaunt,  Ghost !  " 


tDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  115 

Exit  Humphreys  to  tell  Chris  and  George 
that  America  is  going  to  the  dogs.) 

"  Well,"  said  Putnam  at  last, "  we  Ve  discussed 
and  discussed,  and  I  don't  see  that  there  's  any 
way  of  getting  a  crack  at  the  enemy,  unless  one 
of  you  boys  wants  to  swim  down  the  river,  with 
a  torch  in  his  teeth,  and  set  one  of  those  frigates 
below  the  Highlands  on  fire.  Who  speaks  ?  " 

"  Cold  weather  for  swimming !  "  says  Living- 
ston. 

"  Well,  boys,  you  must  contrive  something  to 
keep  our  spirits  up,"  Putnam  resumed.  "  When 
I  was  up  to  Fort  Ti  in  '58,  and  fighting  was  dull, 
we  used  to  go  out  alone  and  bushwhack  for  a 
private  particular  Indian." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  offer  a  suggestion,"  said  Major 
Scrammel,  Putnam's  other  aide,  re-entering  the 
room  after  a  brief  absence. 

Scrammel  was  a  handsomish  man  with  a  bad- 
dish  face.  A  man  with  his  cut  of  jib  and  shape 
of  beak  hardly  ever  weathers  the  lee  shore  of 
perdition.  For  want  of  a  moustache  to  twirl,  he 
had  a  trick  of  pulling  his  nose.  Perhaps  he  was 
training  that  feature  for  tweaks  to  come. 

"  Blaze  away,  Scrammel !  "  said  his  General ; 
"  you  always  have  some  ambush  or  other  in  your 
head." 

"  Lady  Brothertoft's  nigger,  the  butler,  is  up 
here  with  the  latest  news  from  below.  I  liavo 
just  been  out  to  speak  to  him." 


116  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  What,  Scrammel !  "  says  Livingston,  sotto 
voce.  "  A  billet-doux  from  the  fair  Lucy  ?  " 

"  La  plus  belle  personne  en  Amerique !  "  Ra- 
diSre  sighs. 

"  You  don't  except  the  mother  ?  "  Living- 
ston inquired  ;  "  that  mature,  magnificent  Ama- 
zon ! " 

"No,"  replied  the  Frenchman,  laboriously 
building,  brick  by  brick,  a  Gallo-American  sen- 
tence. "  The  mother  of  the  daughtare  is  too 
much  in  the  Ladie  Macquebeth.  I  figure  to  my- 
self a  poniard,  enormous  sharpe,  in  her  fine 
ouhite  hand,  and  at  my  heart.  I  seem  to  see 
her  poot  ze-pardon !  the  poison  in  the  basin  — 
the  bowl  —  the  gobbelit.  I  say,  '  Radiere,  care 
thyself!  It  is  a  dame  who  knows  to  stab.'  Mais, 
Mees  Lucie !  Ah,  c'est  autre  chose  !  " 

"  Come,  Scrammel ! "  Putnam  said,  impa- 
tiently ;  "  we  are  waiting  for  your  news." 

"  The  nigger  stole  away  on  some  business  of 
his  own,  which  he  is  mysterious  about ;  but  he 
tells  me  that  his  mistress  consoled  herself  at 
once  for  our  retirement  from  Peekskill  after  we 
lost  the  forts.  She  had  some  of  her  friends 
from  the  British  ships  and  Clinton's  army  at  her 
house  as  soon  as  we  were  gone." 

"  I  believe  she  is  as  dangerous  a  Tory  as  lives 
in  all  Westchester,"  said  the  General.  "She 
ought  to  be  put  in  security." 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  117 

"  What !  after  all  those  dinners  of  hers  we 
have  eaten,  General  ? "  says  Livingston. 

"  I  wish  the  dinners  were  out  of  me,  and  had 
never  been  in  me,"  Old  Put  rejoined,  sheepishly. 
"  I  'm  afraid  we  used  to  talk  too  much  after  her 
Madeira." 

The  Council  was  evidently  of  that  opinion,  as 
a  look  whisking  about  the  circle  testified. 

A  very  significant  look,  with  a  great  basis  of 
facts  behind  it.  Suppose  we  dig  into  the  brain  of 
one  of  these  officers,  —  say  that  keen  Living- 
ston's,—  and  unearth  a  few  facts  about  Mrs. 
Brothertoft,  as  she  is  at  the  beginning  of  Part 
II.  of  this  history. 

Now,  then,  off  with  Livingston's  scalp,  and  the 
top  of  his  skull !  and  here  we  go  rummaging 
among  the  convolutions  of  his  brain  for  impres- 
sions branded,  "  BROTHERTOFT,  MRS."  We  strike 
a  lead.  We  find  a  pocket.  How  compact  this 
brain  stows  its  thoughts!  It  must,  for  it  has 
the  millions  on  millions  of  a  lifetime  to  contain. 
We  have  read  of  a  thousand  leagues  of  lace 
packed  into  a  nut-shell.  We  have  seen  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  photographed  within 
the  periphery  of  a  picayune.  Here  's  closer 
stowage,  —  a  packet  of  thoughts  of  actual  mate- 
rial dimensions,  but  so  infinitesimal  that  we  shall 
have  to  bring  a  microscope  to  bear  before  we 
can  apply  the  micrometer.  Come,  Sirius,  near- 


118  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

est  neighbor  among  the  suns  of  eternity,  pour 
thy  beams  through  our  lens  and  magnify  this 
record !  Thanks,  Sirius !  Quite  plain  now  ! 
That  little  black  point  has  taken  length  and 
breadth,  and  here  's  the  whole  damnation  in 
large  pica,  —  Heaven  save  us  from  the  like ! 

Livingston  Junior  on  Mrs.  Brothertoft.  Ab- 
stract of  Record:  — 

"  By  scalps  and  tomahawks,  what  a  splendid 
virago !  She  must  be,  this  summer  of  1777, 
some  thirty-five  or  thirty-six,  and  in  her  primest 
prime.  Heart 's  as  black  as  her  hair,  some  say. 
Crushed  her  husband's  spirit,  and  he  took  him- 
self off  to  kingdom  come.  Ambitious  ?  I  should 
think  so.  Tory,  and  peaches  to  the  enemy  ?  Of 
course.  She  uses  her  womanhood  as  a  blind, 
ancj  her  beauty  as  a  snare.  Very  well  for  her  to 
say,  '  My  business  is  to  protect  my  property,  and 
establish  my  daughter.  Women  don't  under- 
stand politics,  and  hate  bloodshed.'  Bah !  she 
understands  her  kind  of  politics,  like  a  Catherine 
de'  Medici.  Bloodshed  !  She  could  stab  a  man 
and  see  him  writhe.  But  she  gives  capital  din- 
ners,—  more  like  England  than  any  others  in 
America.  Poor  old  Put,  honest,  frank,  simple- 
hearted  fellow!  look  at  him  on  the  sofa  there 
with  her,  and  a  pint  too  much  of  her  Madeira 
under  his  belt !  She  knows  just  how  near  to  let 
his  blue  sleeve  and  buff  cuff  come  to  that  shoul- 


EDWIN  BROTHEBTOFT.  119 

der  of  hers.  He  '11  tell  all  his  plans  to  her,  she 
'11  whisper  'orn  to  a  little  bird,  and  pounce !  one 
of  these  fine  days  the  redcoats  will  be  upon  us. 
Upon  us  and  011  her  sofa !  Yes,  and  a  good 
many  inches  nearer  than  Old  Put  is  allowed 
to  sit.  For  they  do  whisper  scandal  about  Mad- 
am. When  she  dropped  Julia  Peartrce  Smith, 
the  old  tabby  talked  as  old  cats  always  talk  about 
their  ex-friends.  Scandal !  Yes,  by  the  acre ; 
but  it 's  splendid  to  see  how  she  walks  right  over 
it.  And  several  of  us  fine  fellows  will  not  hear 
or  speak  scandal  of  a  house  where  that  lovely 
Lucy  lives,  —  the  sweet,  pure,  innocent  angel. 
They  say  the  mother  means  to  trade  her  off  to. 
a  redcoat  as  soon  as  she  can  find  one  to  suit. 
Mamma  wants  a  son-in-law  who  will  give  her, 
scandal  and  all,  a  footing  among  stars  and  gar- 
ters in  England,  when  she  has  seen  her  estates 
safe  through  the  war.  It 's  too  bad.  I  'd  go 
down  and  kidnap  that  guileless,  trustful  victim 
myself,  if  I  was  n't  so  desperately  lazy.  There  's 
Scrammel  too,  —  he  would  play  one  of  his  mean- 
est tricks  to  get  her.  Scrammel  was  almost  the 
only  one  of  us  boys  in  buff  and  blue  that  was 
not  taboo  from  Miss  Lucy's  side.  Mamma  was 
not  over  cordial  to  our  color  unless  it  was  but- 
toned over  breasts  that  held  secrets.  Her  black 
eyes  very  likely  saw  scoundrel  in  Scrammel's 
face,  and  used  him.  Poor  Lucy  !  It  looks  dark 


120  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

for  her.  And  yet  her  love  will  never  let  her  see 
what  her  mother  is." 

Enough,  Livingston !  Thanks  for  this  bit  of 
character !  Here  's  your  dot  of  a  record,  labelled 
"  Brothertoft,  Mrs."  !  Now  trepan  your  self  with 
your  own  skull,  clap  your  scalp  back  again  on 
your  sinciput,  and  listen  to  what  Scrammel  is 
saying ! 

"The  old  nigger  tells  me,"  he  was  saying, 
"  that  Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  his  Adjutant  spent 
the  night  after  Forts  Clinton  and  Montgomery 
were  taken  quietly  at  Brothertoft  Manor-House." 

"  Well,"  said  the  General,  "  then  they  had  a 
better  night  than  we  had,  running  away  through 
the  Highlands.  We  can't  protect  our  friends. 
If  the  enemy  have  only  made  themselves  wel- 
come at  the  Manor-House,  instead  of  burning  it 
for  its  hospitality  to  us,  Madam  is  lucky." 

"  She  seems  to  have  made  her  new  guests 
welcome.  The  nigger  thinks  she  knew  they 
were  coming." 

"By  George! — by  Congress!  I  mean,"  says 
Put,  wincing,  "  if  I  ever  get  back  to  Peekskill  —  " 

"  She  seems  to  think,  according  to  her  butler's 
story,  that  you  are  never  to  come  back,"  Scram- 
mel struck  in. 

"  If  that  is  all  the  news  you  have  to  tell,  by 
way  of  keeping  our  spirits  up,  you  might  as  well 
have  been  silent,  sir !  "  growls  Putnam. 


EDWIN    BROTHERTOFT.  121 

"  It 's  not  all,"  Scrammel  resumed.  "  Tho 
nigger  thinks  they  are  getting  up  some  new 
expedition.  But  whether  they  do  or  not,  the 
adjutant  don't  go.  lie  is  to  stay  some  days  at 
the  Manor." 

"  Lord  Rawdon,  is  n't  it  ? "  Put  asked.  "  Well, 
he  is  a  gentleman  and  a  fine  fellow,  —  not  one  of 
those  arrogant,  insolent  dogs  that  rile  us  so." 

"  Not  Rawdon.  He  was  to  be.  But  Major 
Kerr  got  the  appointment  by  family  influence." 

"  Kurr !  c'est  chien,  n'est  ce  pas  ?  "  whispered 
Radiere  to  Livingston. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  Captain  ;  "  and  this  Kerr 
is  a  sad  dog.  He  bit  Scrammel  once  badly  at 
cards  in  New  York,  before  the  war.  Scrammel 
don't  forgive.  He  hates  Kerr,  and  means  to  bito 
back.  Hear  him  snarl  now ! " 

"The  Honorable  Major  Kerr,"  Scrammel  con- 
tinued, "  third  son  of  the  Earl  of  Bendigh,  Ad- 
jutant-General to  Clinton's  forces,  a  fellow  who 
hates  us  and  abuses  us  and  maltreats  our  prison- 
ers, but  an  officer  of  importance,  is  staying  and 
to  stay  several  days,  the  only  guest,  at  Brother- 
toft  Manor-House.  Let  me  see ;  it  can't  be 
more  than  twenty  miles  away." 

He  marked  his  words,  and  glanced  about  the 
circle.  His  eyes  rested  upon  Livingston  last. 

"  Oho !  "  says  that  gentleman.  "  I  begin  to 
comprehend.  You  mean  to  use  the  Brother- 

6 


122  EDWIi*   BKOTHEETOFT. 

toft  inajordomo  as  Colonel  Barton  did  his  man 
Prince  at  Newport.  Woolly-head's  skull  is  to 
butt  through  Kerr's  bedroom  door,  at  dead  of 
night.  Then,  enter  Scrammel,  puts  a  pistol  to 
his  captive's  temple  and  marches  him  off  to  Fish- 
kill.  Bravo !  Belle  idee",  n'est  ce  pas,  mon 
Colonel  ?  " 

"  Magnifique !  "  rejoined  Radierc.  "  I  fclicit 
thee  of  it,  my  Scaramelle." 

"  Now,  boys  ! "  says  Put,  "  this  begins  to 
sound  like  business.  We  need  some  important 
fellow,  like  Kerr,  taken  prisoner  and  brought 
here,  to  keep  our  spirits  up.  The  thing 's  easy 
enough  and  safe  enough.  If  I  was  twenty  years 
younger,  general  or  no  general,  I  'd  make  a  dash 
to  cut  him  out.  Who  volunteers  to  capture  the 
Adjutant?" 

"  I  remember  myself,"  said  Radiere,  gravely, 
"  of  a  billet,  very  short,  very  sharp,  which  our 
Chief  wrote  to  Sir  Clinton,  lately.  It  was  of 
one  Edmund  Palmer,  taken  —  so  this  billet  said  — 
as  one  espy,  condemned  as  one  espy,  and  hang- 
ged  as  espy.  Sir  Clinton  waits  to  answer  that 
little  billet.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  read  in  his 
response  the  name  of  one  of  my  young  friends, 
taken  as  espy  and  hang-ged." 

"  Why  does  not  Scrammel  execute  Scrammel's 
plan  ?  "  asked  Livingston. 

*'  I  cannot  be  spared,"  the  aide-de-camp  re- 
sponded. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  123 

"  0  yes  !  never  mind  me  !  "  cried  the  General. 
"  Skerrett,  here,  can  fill  your  place.  Or  Hum- 
phreys can  stop  writing  doggerel  and  do  double 
duty." 

Scrammel  evidently  was  not  eager  to  leave  a 
vacancy,  or  to  gag  his  brother  aide-de-camp's 
muse. 

"  Why  don't  you  volunteer  yourself,  Living- 
ston ?  "  he  said.  "  You  know  the  country  and 
the  house,  and  seemed  to  be  well  up  in  the 
method  of  Prescott's  capture  at  Newport." 

"  I  have  not  my  reputation  to  make,"  said  the 
other,  haughtily.  Indeed,  his  reckless  pluck  was 
well  known.  "But  I'm  desperately  lazy,"  which 
was  equally  a  notorious  fact. 

No  other  spoke,  and  presently  all  eyes  were 
making  focus  upon  that  blonde  Moustache,  which 
the  Marquis  de  Chastellux  does  not,  and  these 
pages  do,  endow  with  a  big  M,  and  make  his- 
toric. 

It  was  only  the  other  day  that  the  wearer  of 
that  decoration  had  become  the  hero  of  a  famous 
ballad,  beginning, — 

"'T  was  night,  rain  poured;  when  British  blades, 

In  number  twelve  or  more, 

As  they  sat  tippling  apple-jack, 

Heard  some  one  at  the  door. 

" '  Arise,'  he  cried,  —  't  was  Skerrett  spoke, — 

1  And  trudge,  or  will  or  nill, 
Twelve  miles  to  General  Washington, 
At  Pennibecker's  Mill." 


124  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Then  the  ballad  went  on  to  state,  in  stanzas 
many  and  melodious,  how  it  happened  that  the 
"  blades"  of  his  Majesty's  great  knife,  the  Army, 
were  sheathed  in  a  carouse,  at  an  outpost  near 
Philadelphia,  without  sentries.  Apple-jack,  too, 
—  why  they  condescended  to  apple-jack,  —  that 
required  explanation:  "  And  apple-jack,  that  tip- 
ple base,  Why  did  these  heroes  drain  ?  0,  where 
were  nobler  taps  that  night,  —  Port,  sherry,  and 
champagne?"  Then  the  forced  march  of  the  un- 
lucky captives  was  depicted :  "  It  rained.  The 
red  coats  on  their  backs  Their  skins  did  purple, 
olue ;  The  powder  on  their  heads  grew  paste ; 
Each  toe  its  boot  wore  through."  The  poem 
closed  with  Washington's  verdict  on  the  exploit : 
"  Skerrett,  my  lad,  thou  art  a  Trump,  The  ace  of 
all  the  pack  ;  Come  into  Pennibecker's  Mill,  And 
share  my  apple-jack  !  " 

Hero  once,  hero  always!  When  a  man  has 
fairly  compromised  himself  to  heroism,  there  is 
no  let-up  for  him.  The  world  looks  to  him  at 
once,  when  it  wants  its  "  deus  ex  machina." 

In  the  present  quandary,  all  eyes  turned  to 
Peter  Skerrett,  Captor  of  Captives  and  Washing- 
ton's Ace  of  Trumps. 

"  General,"  said  he,  "  I  seem  to  be  the  only 
unattached  officer  present.  Nothing  can  be  done 
now  about  my  mission.  I  do  not  love  to  be  idle. 
Allow  me  to  volunteer  in  this  service,  if  you 
think  it  important." 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  125 

Old  Put  began  to  look  grave.  "  You  risk  your 
life.  If  they  catch  you  in  their  lines,  it  is  hang- 
ing business." 

"  I  knew  this  morning,"  thought  the  Major, 
"that  I  should  make  a  fool  of  myself  before 
night.  I  have  !  " 

"  No  danger,  General !  "  he  said  aloud.  "  I  'vo 
got  the  knack  of  this  work.  I  like  it  better  than 
the  decapitation  part  of  my  trade." 

"  Ah,  Skerrett!  "  Livingston  says,  "  that  bal- 
lad will  be  the  death  of  you.  You  will  be  adding 
Fitte  after  Fitte,  until  you  get  yourself  discom- 
fitted  at  last.  Pun  !  " 

Mz.rk  this  !  It  was  the  Continental  Pun  at  its 
point  of  development  reached  one  year  after  the 
Declaration  of  Independence.  0  let  us  be  joy- 
ful !  Let  us  cry  aloud  with  joy  at  our  progress 
since.  Puns  like  the  above  are  now  deemed 
senile,  and  tolerated  only  in  the  weekly  news- 
papers. 

No  doggerel  had  been  written  about  Scram- 
mel.  No  lyric  named  him  hero.  "  Your  friend 
seems  to  have  a  taste  for  the  office  of  kidnapper," 
he  caitiffly  sneered  to  Livingston,  under  cover  of 
his  own  hand,  which  tweaked  the  Scrammel  nose 
as  he  spoke. 

"  He  has  a  taste  for  doing  what  no  one  else 
dares,"  rejoined  the  other.  "  Your  nose  is  safe 
from  him,  even  if  he  overhears  you.  I  say, 


126  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Skcrrett,  I  don't  feel  so  lazy  as  I  did.  Take 
me  with  you.  I  know  this  country  by  leagues 
and  by  inches." 

"  No,  Harry ;  General  Putnam  cannot  spare 
his  Punster.  One  officer  is  enough.  I  shall 
take  Jierck  Dewitt  for  my  aide-de-camp.  He 
knows  the  Brothertoft-Manor  country." 

"  Empty  Jierck  of  rum,  cork  him  and  green- 
seal  him,  mouth  and  nose,  and  there  cannot  be 
a  better  man." 

"  Since  you  will  go,  you  must,"  says  Put.  "  By 
the  way,  if  you  want  a  stanch,  steady  man,  take 
Sergeant  Lincoln.  He  somehow  knows  this 
country  as  if  he  had  crept  over  it  from  the 
cradle.  "Where  is  that  negro  of  Lady  Brother- 
toft's,  Scrammel  ?  " 

"  I  left  him  talking  to  Lincoln.  Major  Sker- 
rett  will  easily  find  him." 

"  He  was  my  wiggy  friend,"  thought  Skerrett. 

"  Don't  fail  to  bag  Kerr,"  says  Livingston. 
"He  wants  a  Yankee  education,  —  so  does  all 
England." 

"  Yes,"  says  Radie"re,  "  we  must  have  these 
Kurr  at  school.  We  must  teach  to  them  civility 
through  our  noses  of  rebels.  We  must  flogge 
them  with  roddes  from  the  Libertd-Tree.  They 
shall  partake  our  pork  and  bean.  Yankee 
Doodle  shall  play  itself  to  them  on  our  two 
whistles  and  a  tambour.  Go,  my  Skcriett! 


EDWIN   BKOTHERTOFT.  127 

Liberty  despatch  tliee !  Be  the  good,  lucky 
boy!" 

All  the  officers  gave  him  -Good  speed !  and 
Humphreys,  Poetaster-General,  began  to  bang 
the  two  lobes  of  his  brain  together,  like  a  pair 
of  cymbals,  to  strike  out  rhymes  in  advance 
for  a  paean  on  the  conquering  hero's  return. 

"  You  won't  stay  to  dinner,"  cries  Put. 
"  There  's  corned  beef  and  apple-sauce,  and  a 
York  State  buckskin  pumpkin-pie,  —  I  wish  it 
was  a  Connecticut  one !  " 

"  Yes,"  says  Livingston,  "  and  I  watched  the 
cook  this  morning  coursing  that  dumb  rooster 
of  yours,  General,  until  he  breathed  his  last." 

"  All,  my  Skcrrett !  "  sighed  RadiaTe.  "  Will 
posterity  appreciate  our  sacrifices?  Will  they  re- 
member themselves  —  these  oblivious  posterity 
—  of  the  Frenchmen  who  abandoned  the  cui- 
sines of  Paris  to  feed  upon  the  swine  and  the 
bean  a  discretion,  to  swallow  the  mush  sans 
mclasse,  to  drink  the  Appcl  Jacque  ?  Will  they 
build  the  marble  mausoleum,  inscribed,  '  Ci- 
GIT  LA  RADIERE,  COLONEL.  HE  WAS  A  GOOD 
HEART  AND  A  BAD  STOMACH,  AND  HE  SHED  HIS 
DIGESTION  FOR  LIBERTY  ? ' ' 

Skerrett  laughed.  "  I  will  mention  it  to  pos- 
terity, Colonel,"  he  said,  —  and  this  page  re- 
deems his  promise. 

Then,  lest  weeds  might  sprout  under  his  feet, 


128  EDWIN   BROTHERTOPT. 

the  Major  turned  his  back  upon  dinner,  —  that 
moment  announced,  —  and  launched  himself 
upon  the  current  of  his  new  adventure. 

"  Down !  "  he  soliloquized  ;  "  down,  my  long- 
ings for  buckskin  pie,  and  for  rooster  dead  of 
congestion  of  the  lungs  from  over  coursing! 
Tempt  me  not,  ye  banquets  of  Sybaris,  until 
my  train  is  laid  and  waiting  for  the  fusee." 


IV. 

MAJOR  SKERRETT  paused  on  the  farm-house 
steps. 

"  Jierck  Dewitt,  I  want,"  he  thought.  "  And 
there  he  is  on  guard,  looking  every  inch  a  soldier 
again.  My  good  word  has  quite  set  him  up. 
Mem.  —  A  word  of  cheer  costs  little,  and  may 
help  much.  Now  for  Sergeant  Lincoln  and  the 
negro ! " 

Just  at  the  edge  of  the  bank,  in  front  of 
the  farm-house,  Skerrett  perceived  the  Sergeant 
sitting. 

His  head  was  resting  on  his  hands.  The  physi- 
ognomy of  his  back  revealed  despondency.  An 
old  well-sweep  bent  over  him,  and  seemed  to 
long  to  comfort  him  with  a  douse  of  balm  from 
its  bucket. 

The  landscape  glowed,  as  before.  The  jolly 
pumpkins  grinned,  as  before.  The  Major's  spirits 
were  still  at  bubble  and  boil.  "  Every  prospect 
was  pleasing,  and  only  man "  —  that  is  mily 
Sergeant  —  seemed  woe-begone. 

"  He  is  feeling  his  wound,  —  the  '  wowud '  Put 

6*  l 


130  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

talked  of,  —  I  fear,"  thought  Skerrett.  "  I  must 
cheer  him.  Unhappy  people  are  not  allowed  in 
the  Skerrett  precinct." 

"  Why,  Orderly  !  "  says  the  Major,  approach- 
ing, and  laying  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder ; 
"  you  must  not  be  down-hearted,  man !  What 
has  happened  ?  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  Sergeant  raised  his  head,  and  shook  it 
despairingly. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he.  "  Nothing  !  It  is  too 
late ! " 

"  Too  late !  That  is  a  point  of  time  my  time- 
piece has  not  learnt  how  to  mark." 

Indeed,  the  Skerrett  movement  was  too  elastic 
in  springs,  and  too  regular  with  its  balance-wheel, 
to  strike  any  hour  but  "  Just  in  time ! " 

The  Sergeant  thanked  him,  with  a  smile  and 
manner  of  singular  grace,  and  repeated,  sorrow- 
fully, "It  is  too  late." 

"  Too  late  is  suicide,"  says  Peter.  "  We  will 
not  cut  our  throats  till  after  Indian  summer. 
Presently  you  shall  tell  me  what  is  and  is  not 
too  late.  First,  I  have  a  question  or  two  to 
ask.  The  General  tells  me  you  know  this  coun- 
try thoroughly." 

"  I  do  by  heart,  —  by  sad  heart." 

"  I  have  undertaken  to  cut  in,  and  cut  out, 
where  the  enemy  is,  twenty  miles  below  on  the 
river." 


EDWIN   BROTIIKRTOFT.  131 

The  Orderly  at  once  seemed  greatly  interested. 

"  Twenty  miles  below  ?  No  one  can  know  that 
region  better  than  I." 

"  Was  it  there  his  heart  was  wounded  ? " 
thought  the  Major. 

"  Ah,  then !  you  're  just  my  man,"  Skerrctt 
continued,  ignoring  the  other's  depression.  "  I 
have  volunteered  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  I  may 
need  to  know  every  fox-track  through  all  the 
Highlands  to  get  away  safe  with  my  goose,  if 
I  catch  him." 

Major  Skerrett,  surprised  at  a  sudden  air  of 
eager  attention  and  almost  excitement  in  the 
older  man,  paused  a  moment. 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  the  other  authoritatively,  with 
a  voice  and  manner  more  of  Commander-in- 
Chicf  than  Sergeant. 

Skerrett  felt,  as  he  had  done  before,  the  pecu- 
liar magnetism  of  this  mysterious  Orderly,  who 
quoted  Latin  and  bowed  like  a  courtier. 

*'  I  have  taken  upon  myself,"  said  he,  "  to  cut 
out  a  British  officer  of  distinction,  now  staying 
at  a  country  house  twenty  miles  below.  I  may 
want  you  of  my  party.  General  Putnam  rec- 
ommends you." 

The  Orderly  sprang  up  and  grasped  Major 
Skcrrett's  arm  with  both  his  hands. 

"  Who  is  the  man  ?  Name  !  Name !  "  he 
gasped. 


132  EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT. 

"  Major  Kerr,"  replied  Skerrett,  coolly. 

"  Wait !  wait  a  moment ! "  cried  the  other, 
in  wild  excitement. 

He  rushed  to  the  edge  of  the  bank,  where  a 
path  plunged  off,  leading  to  the  Highland  road, 
and  was  lost  among  the  glowing  recesses  of  a 
wood  skirting  the  base  of  the  heights.  He 
halted  there,  and  screamed,  in  a  frantic  voice, 
"  Voltaire  !  Voltaire !  " 

And  neither  the  original  destructive  thinker 
thus  entitled,  nor  any  American  namesake  of  his 
answering  the  call,  the  Orderly  raced  down  the 
slope,  with  hat  gone  and  gray  cue  bobbing 
against  his  coat-collar. 

He  disappeared  in  the  grove,  and  the  Major 
could  hear  his  feet  upon  the  dry  leaves,  and  his 
voice  still  crying  loudly,  "  Voltaire  !  Voltaire !  " 

"Has  the  old  man  gone  mad?  "  thought  Sker- 
rett. "  Voltaire  the  Great  is  getting  too  ancient 
to  travel.  It  is  hardly  fair  to  disturb  him.  He 
is  a  soldier  '  emeritus '  of  our  Good  Cause.  He 
waked  France  up.  We  have  to  thank  him 
largely  that  France  has  an  appetite  for  free- 
dom, and  sends  her  sons  over  to  help  us  fight 
for  it.  But  he  cannot  hear  this  hullaballoo  at 
Ferney ;  Lafayette,  RadiSre,  and  the  others,  rep- 
resent their  master,  with  such  heart  and  stom- 
ach as  they  can. 

"  I  must  not  lose  sight  of  my  runaway,"  con- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  133 

tinned  he  to  himself.  "  The  name  of  Kerr  struck 
him  like  a  shot.  He  may  have  a  grudge  there. 
Some  private  vendetta  in  the  case.  And  yet  this 
mild  old  man  always  seemed  to  me  to  have  en- 
tirely merged  his  personality  in  patriotism.  I 
fancied  that  he  had  forgotten  all  his  likes,  dis- 
likes, loves,  and  hates,  and  given  up  all  ties  ex- 
cept his  allegiance  to  an  idea." 

Major  Skerrett  walked  rapidly  to  the  edge  of 
the  bank,  where  Sergeant  Lincoln  had  first  given 
tongue  for  an  absent  philosopher. 

As  he  was  about  to  follow  the  path,  he  heard 
bteps  again  in  the  wood.  In  a  moment  the  Or- 
derly reappeared,  and  ran  up  the  slope,  panting. 
He  was  followed  by  a  person  who  moved  slower, 
and  blew  harder,  the  same  old  wiggy  negro 
whom  Major  Skerrett  had  observed  laying  down 
the  law  to  his  companion. 

"  So  that  is  Voltaire  ! "  thought  the  Major. 
"  Well,  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  found  the 
devil  blacker  than  he  is  painted." 

The  Orderly  sank,  agitated  and  out  of  breath, 
on  the  ground. 

Voltaire  came  up  the  hill,  and,  being  hatless, 
pulled  hard  at  his  gray  wig,  by  way  of  salute. 
The  wig  was  rooted  to  the  scalp.  Voltaire  left 
it  in  situ,  and  bowed  as  grandly  as  a  black 
dignitary  may  when  he  is  blown  by  a  good 
ruiv 


184  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  I  was  in  despair  just  now,"  said  Sergeant 
Lincoln.  "  In  despair  when  I  said  it  was  too 
late  to  help  me.  Perhaps  it  is  not  so.  I  trust 
God  sends  you,  Major  Skerrett,  to  show  us  the 
Way  out  of  our  troubles." 

"  This  is  sound  Gospel,"  thought  Skerrett. 
"  This  black  Voltaire  may  be  the  Evangelist ; 
but  the  Gospel  is  unimpeachable." 

"  Come,  Sergeant,"  continued  he  aloud,  "  tell 
me  what  all  this  means,  my  friend.  We  must 
despatch.  My  bird  down  the  river  may  take 
wing,  if  I  waste  time." 

"  I  am  pained,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said 
the  senior,  rising,  "  to  acknowledge  to  you  an 
unwilling  deceit  of  mine.  But  I  must  do  so. 
You  have  known  me  always  under  a  false  name. 
I  am  not  Lincoln,  but  Brothertoft,  —  Edwin 
Brothertoft." 

"  My  father's  friend  !  "  said  Skerrett,  taking 
the  other's  hand.  "  Mr.  Brothertoft,  so  missed, 
so  desired  by  the  Good  Cause.  Why " 

Here  Major  Skerrett  interrupted  himself,  and 
went  to  rummaging  in  his  brain  for  the  discon- 
nected strips  of  record  stamped,  "  Brothertofts, 
The  family."  The  strips  pasted  themselves  to-" 
getlier,  and  he  ran  his  mind's  eye  rapidly  along, 
as  one  might  read  a  mile  or  so  of  telegram  in 
cipher. 

As  he  read  with  one  eye  introverted  and  gal- 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  135 

loping  over  the  record,  while  it  whirled  by  like 
a  belt  on  a  drum  making  a  million  revolutions  in 
a  breath,  he  kept  the  other  eye  fixed  upon  Mr. 
Brothcrtoft,  alias  Lincoln,  before  him. 

This  sad,  worn,  patient,  gentle  face  supplied  a 
vivid  flash  of  interpretation.  It  shed  light  upon 
all  the  dusky  places  in  Major  Skerrett's  knowl- 
edge of  the  family.  The  eye  looking  outward 
helped  the  eye  looking  inward.  Instantly,  by 
this  new  method  of  utilizing  strabismus,  he  saw 
what  he  remembered  faintly  become  distinct.  He 
could  now  understand  why  this  quiet  gentleman 
had  dropped  his  tools, — forceful  mallet  and  keen 
chisel,  —  and  let  the  syllables  of  his  unfinished 
mark  on  the  world  wear  out. 

"  I  have  heard  and  read  of  these  blighting 
hurts,"  thought  Peter,  "  and  I  trifled  with  their 
existence,  and  was  merry  as  before,  —  God  forgive 
me !  Now  I  touch  the  wounded  man,  and  it 
chills  me.  I  lose  heart  and  hope.  But  strangely, 
too,  this  man  who  first  teaches  me  to  feel  the  pain, 
teaches  me  also  that  the  sufferer  needs  my  love. 
Seems  to  me  I  am  more  in  earnest  than  I  was 
two  minutes  ago.  I  feel  older  and  gentler.  I 
wish  I  was  his  son ! " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Edwin  Brothertoft,  answering 
slowly  and  sadly,  while  the  other's  brain  read 
records  and  forged  thoughts  at  this  furious  speed. 
"  Would  you  ask  me  why  my  life  is  what  it  is, 


136  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

and  not  what  men  would  say  it  might  have  been  ? 
Ah,  my  friend,  the  story  is  long  and  dreary, — too 
dreary  to  darken  the  heart  of  youth." 

Sadly  as  he  spoke,  there  was  no  complaint  in 
his  tone.  He  seemed  to  regard  his  facts  a  little 
dreamily,  as  if  he  were  mentioning  some  other 
man's  experience. 

"  But  the  past  is  dead,"  he  continued,  "  and 
here  are  present  troubles  alive  and  upon  me." 

"  Troubles  alive !  "  says  the  Major,  feeling 
brave,  buoyant  Peter  Skerrett  still  stirring  under 
the  buff  and  blue.  "  Those  I  can  help  floor, 
perhaps.  Name  them !  " 

He  looked  so  victorious,  and  the  Moustache, 
albeit  unknown  to  the  pages  of  De  Chastellux, 
so  underscored  his  meaning  nose,  and  so  drew 
the  cartouche  of  a  hero  about  his  firm  mouth, 
that  Brothertoft  thrilled  with  admiration  through 
his  sadness. 

Everybody  has  seen  the  phantasmagoric  shop- 
sign.  "  VINEGAR,"  you  read  upon  it,  as  you  ap- 
proach down  the  street.  You  don't  want  Vinegar, 
and  you  gaze  reproachfully  at  the  sign.  But 
what  is  this  ?  As  you  advance,  a  blur  crosses 
your  eyes.  'T  was  Vinegar  surely !  'T  is  SUGAR 
now.  And  that  you  do  want;  and  proceed  to 
purchase  a  barrel  of  crushed,  a  keg  of  powdered, 
and  a  box  of  loaves  wearing  foolscaps  of  TyriaD 
purple  on  their  conical  bald  pates. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  137 

Edwin  Brothertoft  had  seen  only  DESPAIR 
written  up  before  him.  He  advanced  a  step,  at 
Skerrett's  words,  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  Despair 
shifted  to  HOPE. 

"  When  you  named  Major  Kerr,"  he  said, 
"  you  named  one  who  is  devising  evil  to  me  and 
mine.  Capture  him  and  the  harm  is  stayed. 
My  faithful  old  friend  Voltaire  and  I  will  try  to 
tell  you  the  story  between  us." 

Voltaire  considered  this  his  introduction,  and 
bowed  pompously. 

"  You  are  too  juicy,  Voltaire,  and  too  shiny,  and 
not  sardonic  enough,  to  bear  the  name  of  the 
weazened  Headpiece  of  France,"  the  Major  said. 
"  When  I  made  my  pilgrimage  to  Ferney,  I  found 
that  Atropos  of  Bigotry  in  a  night-cap  and  dress- 
ing-gown, looking  as  wrinkled,  leathery,  and 
Great  as  one  of  Michael  Angelo's  Sibyls.  I  hope 
you  are  as  true  to  Freedom  as  he  was,  and  a 
more  wholesome  man." 

Skerrett  made  this  talk  to  give  the  old  fellow 
time  to  blow,  as  well  as  to  stir  up  a  smile  to  the 
surface  of  Brothertoft's  sad  face. 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  negro,  bowing  again. 
"Voltaire,  sir,  omnorum  gotherum  of  Brother- 
toft  Manor-House.  Hannibal  was  my  name ; 
but  I  heard  Mr.  Ben  Franklin  say  that  Mr.  Vol- 
taire was  the  greatest  man  he  knowed,  so  I  mar- 
ried to  that  name,  and  tuk  it." 


188  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

Here  he  paused  and  grinned.  His  white  teeth 
gleamed  athwart  his  face,  as  the  white  stocking 
flashes  through,  when  one  slits  a  varnished  boot, 
too  tight  across  the  instep. 

"  I  have  been  here  at  Fishkill  some  months," 
said  Brothertoft.  "  At  first  I  did  not  allow  my- 
self to  think  of  my  family.  Then  neighborhood 
had  its  effect.  I  communicated  my  whereabouts 
to  this  trusty  friend.  He  got  my  message,  and 
comes  to  give  me  the  first  news  I  have  had 
since  I  left  home  at  the  news  of  Lexington." 

"  More  than  two  years  ago,"  Skerrett  said. 

"And  in  those  two  years,"  continued  the 
other,  "  my  daughter  has  passed  from  child  to 
woman." 

"Oho!"  thought  Peter.  "His  daughter  — 
Radiere's  la  plus  belle  —  is  in  this  business. 
My  years  in  Europe  had  made  me  almost  for- 
get there  was  such  a  person.  Is  she  like  father, 
or  mother,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"From  child  to  woman,  sir,"  says  Voltaire, 
"  and  there  's  not  such  another  young  lady  in 
the  Province,  —  State,  I  mean." 

Bravo,  Voltaire !  You  refuse  to  talk  "  nig- 
ger." You  still  remember  that  Tombigbee  is  a 
dialect  taboo  to  you.  Continue  to  recollect  that 
on  these  pages  you  are  a  type  of  a  race  on  whose 
qualities  the  world  is  asking  information.  Chris- 
ty's Minstrels  dance  out  their  type  negro,  Jim 


EDWIN   BROTHEIITOFT.  139 

Crow,  an  impossible  buffoon.  La  Beecher  Stowe 
presents  hers,  Uncle  Tom,  an  exceptional  saint. 
Mr.  Frederick  Douglass  introduces  himself  with 
a  courtier's  bow  and  an  orator's  tongue.  The 
ghost  of  John  C.  Calhoun  rushes  forward,  and 
points  to  a  stuffed  Gorilla.  Then  souviens  toi 
Voltaire  of  thy  representative  position,  and  don't 
lapse  into  lingo ! 

"  When  I  abandoned  home,"  Brothertoft  re- 
sumed, "  I  believed  that  I  could  be  of  no  further 
use  to  a  daughter  who  had  disowned  me.  But  I 
have  found  that  a  man  cannot  cease  to  love  his 
own  flesh  and  blood." 

"  Nor  his  flesh  and  blood  him,"  says  the  ne- 
gro. "  Other  people  may  do  the  hating.  Miss 
Lucy  only  knows  how  to  love." 

Fort  bien  Voltaire  !  except  the  pronunciation 
"lub." 

"  It  was  only  a  day  or  two  before  the  capture 
of  the  forts  that  my  tardy  message  of  good-will 
reached  my  friend  here,"  said  the  ex-Patroon. 

"  And  just  in  time,"  that  friend  rejoined. 

"  I  hope  so,"  sighed  Putnam's  Orderly. 

"  Yes  sir,"  the  negro  said,  turning  to  Skerrett. 
"  It  was  now  or  never.  So  I  left  my  great  din- 
ner-party. Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  his  suite  were 
to  dine  with  us  to-day  !  " 

"  Grand  company ! "  the  Major  said,  seeing 
that  a  tribute  of  respect  was  wanted 

' 


140  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Sirr  Henery  Clinton  !  "  repeated  the  butler 
with  pride.  "  I  did  n't  like  to  leave.  My  wife 
Sappho  can  cook  prime.  My  boy  Plato  can  pass 
a  plate  prime.  But  where  's  the  style  to  come 
from  when  I  'm  away  ?  Who  's  to  give  the  sig- 
nals ?  '  Ground  dishes !  Handle  covers  !  Draw 
covers !  Forrud  march  with  covers  to  the  pan- 
try ! '  Who  's  to  pull  the  corks  and  pour  the 
Madeira  so  it  won't  blob  itself  dreggy  ? " 

He  paused  and  sighed. 

Edwin  Brothertoft  was  silent.  The  thought 
of  Red  dinner-parties  at  the  Manor  was  evi- 
dently not  agreeable  to  him. 

"  We  are  not  getting  on  at  a  gallop,"  thought 
Skerrett.  "  But  we  are  on  the  trail.  My  guides 
must  take  their  own  time.  They  know  the  way 
and  the  dangers,  and  I  do  not.  The  facts  will 
all  come  out  within  five  minutes." 

"  Well,  Voltaire,"  he  said,  "  a  bad  appetite 
to  'em  all !  Go  on  with  your  story.  You  make 
me  hungry  with  your  dinner-parties." 

"Ha,  ha!"  chuckled  the  butler,  —  his  vision 
of  himself  as  Ganymede,  serving  Sir  Clinton 
Tonans  with  hypernectareous  tipple,  vanishing. 
"  Ha,  ha !  "  and  with  his  triumph  he  lapsed  for 
a  moment  into  Tombigbee :  "  Dey  tinks,  down 
tcr  do  Manor,  dat  I  'se  lyin'  sick  abed  wid  de 
colored  niobbus." 

And  then  the  old  fellow  proceeded  to  relate 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  141 

how  he  had  shammed  sick  yesterday,  dodged 
away  at  evening,  and  tramped  all  night  by  by- 
paths through  the  Highlands ;  how  British  scouts 
had  challenged  his  steps  and  fired  at  his  rustle ; 
how  stumbling-blocks  had  affronted  his  shins, 
and  many  a  stub  had  met  his  toes ;  and  how 
at  last,  after  manifold  perils,  he  had  found  his 
old  master  under  the  guise  of  an  Orderly,  and 
announced  to  him  a  new  wrong  in  the  house 
of  Brothertoft,  —  a  new  wrong,  the  climax  of  an 
old  tyranny. 

No  wonder  Mr.  Brothertoft  had  been  despond- 
ent so  that  even  his  back  showed  it,  —  so  de- 
spondent, that  the  well-sweep  longed  to  douse 
him  with  a  bucket  of  balm.  No  wonder  that 
he  sadly  said,  "  Too  late ! "  and  could  see  no 
better  hour  than  that,  marked  by  the  Skerrett 
timepiece. 

Now  then  for  this  new  wrong !  It  shall  be 
told  condensed,  so  that  indignation  can  have  it, 
a  tough  nut  to  crack  with  its  teeth. 


V. 


"!N  short,"  says  Voltaire,  winding  up  his 
story,  "  Madame  Brothertoft  is  going  to  marry 
off  Miss  Lucy  to  Major  Kerr,  day  after  to-morrow 
evening." 

"  To  marry  off!  Then  it  is  nilly  the  lady ! " 
Skerrett  said. 

"  Nilly,  sir !    Yes,  the  nilliest  kind !  " 

There,  Sir  Peter,  is  a  tough  nut  for  your  In- 
dignation to  bite  on ! 

Peter  was  an  undeveloped  True  Lover.  The 
"  vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame "  was  in  him ; 
but  it  lay  latent  under  his  uniform,  as  fire 
lurks  in  a  quartz  pebble,  until  the  destined  little 
boy  strikes  another  quartz  pebble  against  it. 
Now  there  is  a  little  boy  of  Destiny  whose  trade 
it  is  to  go  about  knocking  hearts  together  and 
striking  Love,  —  that  pretty  pink  flash,  that  rosy 
flash,  which  makes  cheeks  blush  sweeter  and 
eyes  gleam  brighter  than  they  knew  how  to 
blush  and  gleam  before,  —  that  potent  flash 
which  takes  hold  of  proper  hearts  and  carbo- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  143 

nizes  them  into  diamonds  of  gleam  unquench- 
able, with  myriad  facets  and  a  smile  on  every 
one,  —  that  keen  flash  which  commands  bad 
hearts  to  burn  away  into  ugly  little  heaps  of 
gray  ashes.  There  is  such  an  urchin,  and  Cupid, 
alias  Eros,  is  his  name.  He  had  tapped  Peter 
Skerrett's  heart  several  times  with  hearts  labelled, 
"Anna's  heart,"  "Belinda's  heart,"  "Clara's 
heart,"  "  Delia's  heart,"  and  so  on  down  the 
alphabet.  No  perceptible  love  had  answered 
these  taps.  Perhaps  the  urchin  made  the  female 
heart  impinge  upon  the  male,  instead  of  clash- 
ing them  together  in  mutual  impact.  Or  per- 
haps he  did  not  do  his  tapping  in  a  dark  place, 
—  for  shadow  is  needful  to  show  light,  —  love 
wants  sorrow  for  a  background. 

However  this  might  be,  Peter  Skerrett  was  still 
an  undeveloped  true  lover.  He  had  made  no 
mistakes  in  love,  he  had  had  no  disappointments. 
His  illusions  were  not  gone.  He  still  believed 
love  was  the  one  condition  of  marriage.  Mar- 
riage without  it  this  innocent  youth  deemed  an 
outrage. 

The  latent  love  in  his  heart  cried,  "  Shame  !  " 
when  he  heard  Voltaire's  story.  Indignant  blood 
rushed  to  his  cheeks,  to  his  eyes  indignant  fire, 
and  curl  indignant  to  his  moustache.  He  dis- 
charged a  drop  of  ire  by  skimming  a  flat  stone 
at  a  chattering  chipmunk,  enthroned  on  a  pump- 


144  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

kin  hard  by.  Then  he  began  to  put  in  trenchant 
queries. 

"  You  are  sure,  Mr.  Brothertoft,  that  your 
•laughter  does  not  love  Kerr." 

"  Sure.     I  have  her  word  for  it." 

"  Does  he  love  her  ?  " 

"He  wants  her." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  beauty  and  an  heiress,  —  those  aro 
the  patent  charms." 

"  Ah  !  But  does  she  know  that  Kerr  is  a  fan- 
faron  and  a  rake,  —  selfish,  certainly,  probably 
base,  and  very  likely  cruel  ?  " 

"  She  knows  only  what  her  mother  tells  her. 
Friends  are  taboo  in  that  house." 

"  But  does  she  divine  nothing  ?  Nothing  to 
base  a  refusal  on  ?  Pardon  me  if  my  tone  seems 
to  express  a  doubt  of  this  young  lady,  but — " 

"  But  you  have  seen  so  many  captivated  by 
rank  and  a  red  coat.  My  friend,  I  have  done  her 
greater  injustice  than  any  you  can  imagine.  I 
believed  my  own  child  spoiled  by  bad  influences. 
We  could  not  understand  each  other.  An  evil- 
omened  figure  held  a  black  curtain  between  us. 
I  was  too  sick  at  heart  to  see  the  truth.  I  had 
lost  my  faith.  I  thought  that  my  daughter 
had  taken  in  poison  with  her  mother's  milk.  I 
fancied  that  she  was  a  willing  pupil  when  her 
mother  taught  her  to  hate  and  despise  me.  I 


EDWIN    BROTIIKRTOFT.  145 

abandoned  her.  Miserable  error,  —  miserable ! 
And  punished  now  !  punished  most  cruelly !  My 
spleen,  my  haste,  my  intemperate  despair,  are 
bitterly  punished  by  my  daughter's  danger.  How 
fatally  I  misjudged  her  in  my  sore-wounded 
heart !  I  know  her  better  at  last.  Better  now, 
when  I  fear  it  is  too  late  to  save  her.  I  know 
her  at  last  through  this  faithful  servant  and 
friend.  He  stood  by  her  when  I  forsook  her. 
God  forgive  me  !  God  forgive  me  !  " 

He  poured  out  this  confession  with  passion 
growing  as  he  spoke.  Then  he  turned  and 
grasped  Major  Skerrett  by  the  shoulder. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Much  !  "  said  Skerrett,  quietly,  command- 
ing his  own  eagerness  roused  by  the  other's 
agony.  "Remember  that  this  wedding  is  not 
to  be  before  day  after  to-morrow.  I  have  vol- 
unteered to  present  the  intended  bridegroom  to 
General  Putnam  here,  by  that  time.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  intend  to  break  my  engagement,  whether 
it  forbids  his  banns  or  not  ?  " 

He  assumed  more  confidence  than  he  felt. 
The  enterprise  was  growing  complicated.  While 
there  was  merely  question  of  taking  or  not  tak- 
ing a  prisoner,  Skerrett  could  look  at  the  matter 
coolly.  Success  was  only  another  laurel  in  his 
corona  triumph  alts  !  Failure  was  but  a  bay  tho 
less.  If  he  bagged  his  man,  another  canto  of 
7  j 


146  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

doggerel.  No  bag,  no  poem.  The  attempt  even 
would  keep  Put  and  his  paladins  amused  until 
their  general  decadence  of  tail  was  corrected,  and 
their  bosoms  swelled  with  valor  again,  and  that 
was  enough. 

But  here  was  a  new  character  behind  the 
scenes.  The  hero's  pulse  began  to  gallop  and 
his  heart  to  prance.  A  woman's  happiness  at 
stake ! 

"  Ah  !  "  reflected  the  Major,  "  I  was  cool 
enough  so  long  as  I  thought  I  was  merely  enter- 
taining a  circle  of  downcast  braves,  bushwhack- 
ing to  steal  an  exchangeable  Adjutant,  and  giv- 
ing the  enemy  an  unexpected  dig  in  the  ribs. 
But  the  new  portion  of  the  adventure  makes  me 
shaky.  If  I  fail,  I  lose  my  laurel,  all  the  same, 
and  a  lady  has  to  be  bonneted  with  a  wreath  of 
orange-flowers  against  her  will.  If  I  don't  bag, 
Beauty  goes  to  the  Kerrs  ;  I  miss  my  canto  and 
the  poem  of  her  life  becomes  a  dirge.  I  must 
not  think  of  it,  or  I  shall  lose  my  spirits." 

"  Prying  into  a  maiden's  heart  is  new  business 
to  me,"  he  resumed  to  the  father,  who  stood 
watching  him  anxiously.  "I  cannot  quite  com- 
prehend this  matter.  She  does  not  love  this 
man.  Her  dislike  has  brought  about  a  reconcili- 
ation between  you.  Where  is  her  No  ?  I  have 
heard  that  women  carry  such  a  weapon,  —  bran- 
dish it,  too,  and  strike  on  much  less  provocation 
than  she  has." 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  147 

"  She  is  not  a  free  agent,"  replied  Brothertoft. 
"  Her  mother  dominates  her.  She  forced  her  to 
disown  me.  She  will  force  her  to  this  marriage. 
Lucy  has  been  quelled  all  her  life.  I  hope  and 
believe  that  if  she  were  released,  or  even  support- 
ed for  one  moment  in  rebellion,  her  character 
might  find  it  had  vigor.  But  she  is  still  wil- 
low in  her  mother's  hands.  If  the  mother,  for 
whatever  reasons,  has  made  up  her  mind  to  this 
marriage,  she  will  crowd  her  daughter  into  it." 

"  "What  reasons  are  sufficient  for  such  tyran- 
ny?" 

"  I  divine  metaphysical  reasons,  that  I  cannot 
speak  of.  It  pains  me  greatly,  my  dear  young 
friend,  to  talk  harshly  of  my  daughter's  mother. 
Perhaps  after  all  she  may  mean  kindly  now. 
She  may  be  mistaken  in  Kerr." 

"  No,"  said  Peter.  "No  woman  of  the  world 
can  mistake  such  a  fellow." 

"  Still,  he  is  a  strong  friend  to  have  on  the 
other  side." 

"  Yes ;  and  this  is  a  moment  when  the  other 
side  is  up  and  we  are  down.  I  can  see  how, 
with  these  great  estates,  a  Patrooness  may  be 
willing  to  save  herself  a  confiscation.  She  can 
pretend  to  be  neutral,  with  a  leaning  to  Liberty, 
and  leave  her  son-in-law  to  rescue  the  acres  if 
Liberty  goes  to  the  gallows." 

"  Such  considerations  have  brought  matters  to 


148  EDWIN   BROTHEETOFT. 

a  crisis.  Kerr  is  there  on  the  spot.  Clinton  is 
victor.  So  the  poor  child  is  hurried  off  without 
giving  her  time  to  consider." 

"  We  must  make  time  for  her.  I  will  go  at 
my  plans  presently.  But  I  should  like  to  hear  a 
little  more  of  Voltaire's  story." 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  take  this  interest  in 
the  welfare  of  a  desolate  and  disheartened  man, 
and  those  who  are  dear  to  him." 

Peter's  cheeks  were  too  brown  to  show  blushes, 
and  his  cocked  hat  covered  his  white  forehead ; 
but  he  noticed  that  his  heart  was  brewing  a  crim- 
son blush,  whether  it  burst  through  the  valves 
and  came  to  the  surface  or  not.  In  fact  he  be- 
gan to  feel  a  lively  sympathy  for  this  weak  girl, 
into  whose  orbit  he  was  presently  to  fling  him- 
self, like  a  yellow-haired  comet,  with  spoil-sport 
intent.  The  more  he  tried  to  cork  in  his  blush, 
the  more  it  would  n't  be  corked.  And  presently 
bang  it  came  to  the  surface.  His  white  forehead 
tingled  at  every  pore,  as  the  surface  of  a  glass  of 
Clicquot  may  tingle  with  its  own  bursting  bub- 
bles. No  such  rosy  flash  had  ever  showed  on  his 
countenance,  when  Anna's  or  Belinda's  or  Clara's 
or  Delia's  cheeks  challenged  him  to  kindle  up. 
But  the  mere  thought  of  a  name  much  lower 
down  in  the  alphabet  now  made  his  heart  eager 
to  do  its  share  in  striking  fire  and  lighting  this 
sorrowful  scene  about  the  Lucy  in  question. 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  149 

The  sad  father  was  not  in  the  way  to  observe 
blushes ;  nor  was  Voltaire,  who  now  proceeded 
to  finish  his  story. 

For  fear  the  worthy  fellow  might  lapse  into 
brogue,  —  whereupon  the  ghost  of  John  C.  Cal- 
houn  would  hurroo  with  triumph,  and  ventrilo- 
quize derisive  niggerisms  through  the  larynx  of 
his  type  negro,  the  stuffed  Gorilla,  —  Voltaire's 
tale  shall  be  transposed  into  the  third  person. 
Then  the  hiatuses  can  be  filled  up,  and  we  shall 
be  able  to  peer  a  little  into  Lucy  Brothcrtoft's 
heart,  and  see  whether  the  Heavenly  Powers 
have  guarded  her,  as  Sappho  the  cook  long  ago 
prophesied  they  would. 


VI. 

No  hag  is  a  houri  to  herfille  de  chambre. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft,  handsome  hag,  was  thor- 
oughly comprehended  by  the  Voltaire  family. 
That  was  no  doubt  part  of  their  compensation 
for  being  black,  and  below  stairs. 

Sweet  Lucy  was  also  well  understood  in  the 
kitchen. 

Many  a  pitiful  colloquy  went  on  about  her 
between  those  three  faithful  souls. 

Sappho's  conundrum,  "  What  is  de  most  im- 
portantest  'gredient  in  soup  ?  "  was  often  pro- 
pounded. Voltaire  always  protested  against 
such  vulgar  remarks.  Plato  always  guessed 
"  Faith ! "  and  pretended  he  'd  never  heard  the 
riddle  before. 

"  Faith  is  all  very  well,"  Voltaire  would  say, 
in  studied  phrase^  as  a  model  to  his  son.  "  But 
where  is  the  Works  ?  Where  is  the  Works  to 
help  Mies  Lucy?" 

"Jess  ycu  keep  yer  grip  onto  de  Faith,"  his 
wife  would  respond,  "  an'  de  Works  will  jus- 
sumfy,  when  de  day  of  jussuinfication  comes." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 


So  Lucy  grew  up  a  grave,  sad,  lonely  young 
girl.  Her  heart  was  undeveloped,  for  she  had 
no  one  but  her  mother  to  love.  She  loved  there, 
with  little  response.  Her  mother  received,  and 
did  not  repel,  her  love.  That  was  enough  for 
this  affectionate  nature.  As  to  sympathy,  they 
were  strangers. 

"  She  seems  to  me  bitterly  cold,  when  I  love 
her  so  dearly,"  Lucy  would  say  to  herself;  "  but 
how  can  I  wonder?  My  father's  wrong-doing 
has  broken  her  heart.  Her  life  must  be  mere 
endurance.  Mine  would  be,  if  I  were  so  disap- 
pointed in  one  I  loved.  It  is  now." 

And  the  poor  child's  heart  would  sink,  and 
her  eyes  fill,  and  thick  darkness  come  over  her 
future. 

She  lived  a  sadly  lonely  life.  She  could 
never  be  merry  as  other  girls.  There  was  a 
miserable  sense  of  guilt  oppressing  her  soul. 
The  supposed  crimes  of  her  father  —  those  un- 
known enormities  —  weighed  upon  her.  These, 
slie  thought,  were  what  made  many  good  people 
a  little  shy  of  the  Brothertoft  household.  She 
could  not  fail  to  perceive  a  vague  something  in 
which  her  mother's  house  was  different  from 
other  houses  she  was  permitted  slightly  to  know. 
Why  were  so  many  odious  men  familiar  there  ? 
When  the  family  were  in  town,  she  could  avoid 
them,  day  and  evening,  and  spend  long  hours 


152  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

unnoticed  and  forgotten  in  her  own  chamber. 
She  could  escape  to  books  or  needlework.  But 
why  did  her  mother  tolerate  these  coarse  men 
from  the  barracks,  with  their  Torn,  Dick,  and 
Harry  talk  ?  To  be  sure  these  were  days  of  war, 
and  Mrs.  Brothertoft  was  loyal  in  her  sympathies, 
though  non-committal,  and  "  She  may  think  it 
right,"  thought  Lucy,  "  to  show  her  loyalty  in 
the  only  way  a  woman  can,  by  hospitality.  But 
I  am  glad  she  does  not  expect  me  to  help  her 
entertain  her  guests.  I  am  glad  I  am  a  child 
still.  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  a  woman." 

Her  life  took  a  sombre  cast.  She  sank  into  a 
groove,  and  moved  through  the  hours  of  her 
days  a  forlorn  and  neglected  creature. 

"  Queer !  "  Julia  Peartree  Smith  would  say 
of  her.  "  A  little  weak  here,"  and  Julia  touched 
her  forehead,  just  below  her  chestnut  front. 
"  She  is  a  Brothertoft,  and  they  were  always 
feeble-minded  folk,  you  know.  But  perhaps 
it  's  just  as  well,"  —  and  Julia  sank  her  voice 
to  a  mean  whisper, — "just  as  well  she  should  n't 
be  too  sharp-sighted  in  that  house.  I  really  be- 
lieve the  silly  chit  loves  her  mother,  and  thinks 
her  as  good  as  anybody.  I  tried  to  give  her  a 
half-hint  once,  but  the  little  fool  fired  up  red- 
hot  and  said,  I  was  a  shameful  old  gossip,— 
'old,'  indeed!" 

So  Lucy  lived,  utterly  innocent  of  any  dream 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  163 

of  the  evil  she  was  escaping.  There  is  something 
sadly  beautiful  and  touching  in  this  spectacle. 
A  moonlit  cloud  flitting  over  the  streets  of  a 
great  wicked  city,  pausing  above  foul  courts 
where  vice  slinks  and  crime  cowers,  reflected 
in  the  eddies  of  the  tainted  river,  —  the  same 
eddy  that  was  cleft  at  solemn  moonrise  by  a  sui- 
cide, —  this  weft  of  gentle  cloud  is  not  more  un- 
conscious of  all  the  sin  and  shame  beneath  it, 
than  Lucy  of  any  wrong.  The  cloud  beholds  the 
pure  moon,  and  drifts  along  unsullied ;  Lucy 
saw  only  her  own  white  and  virginal  faith.  It 
was  not  a  warming,  cheering  luminary ;  but  it 
shed  over  her  world  the  gray,  resigned  light  of 
patience. 

A  touching  sight !  the  more  so,  because  wo 
know  that  the  character  will  develop,  and,  when 
it  is  ripe  enough  to  bear  maturer  sorrows  and  to 
perceive  a  darker  shame,  that  the  eyes  will  open 
and  the  sorrow  and  shame  will  be  revealed, 
standing  where  they  have  so  long  stood  unseen. 

After  this  little  glimpse  of  Lucy's  life,  monot- 
onously patient  for  the  want  of  love,  Voltaire 
takes  up  his  narration  again. 

Yoltaire  thought  Mrs.  Brothertoft  had  deter- 
mined to  marry  off  Miss  Lucy  to  Major  Kerr  as 
long  ago  as  last  spring,  before  they  left  town. 
She  did  not,  however,  announce  her  plans  until 
they  were  in  the  country.  She  probably  knew 

7* 


154  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

that  this  was  a  case  where  the  betrothed  had 
better  not  see  too  much  of  each  other. 

"  I  remember  the  day,"  says  the  negro,  "  when 
Miss  Lucy  began  to  mope.  Roses  was  comiu'  in 
strong.  She  used  to  fill  the  house  with  'em. 
Sometimes  she  'd  sing  a  little,  while  she  was 
fixin'  'em.  But  from  that  day  out,  she  's  never 
teched  a  flower  nor  sung  a  word.  She  's  just 
moped." 

By  and  by  Voltaire  had  discovered  the  reason. 

It  was  the  wreath  of  mock  orange-flowers 
dangled  over  Lucy's  head  by  a  false  Cupid, 
Anteros  himself,  that  had  taught  her  to  hate 
roses  and  every  summer  bloom.  Her  faint  songs 
were  still  because  her  heart  was  sick.  The  bride- 
groom was  coming,  and  her  mother  had  notified 
the  bride  to  put  on  her  prettiest  smile.  This 
command  was  given  in  Mrs.  Brothertoft's  short, 
despotic  way.  Neither  side  argued.  Lucy  pre- 
pared to  obey,  just  as  she  would  have  thrust  a 
thorn  in  her  foot,  or  swallowed  a  coal,  upon 
order.  She  was  not  so  very  happy.  She  could 
be  a  little  more  unhappy  without  an  unbearable 
shock.  Major  Kerr  did  not  disgust  her  so  much 
as  some  of  her  mother's  intimates.  Still  the 
prospect  was  not  charming.  The  summer  roses 
lost  color  to  her  eyes.  Color  left  the  cheeks  that 
once  rivalled  the  roses.  The  bride  did  not  try  to 
smile.  Smiles  are  smiles  only  when  the  heart 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  155 

pulls  the  wires.  It  takes  practice  to  work  the 
grimace  out  of  a  forced  smile,  so  that  it  may  pass 
for  genuine. 

When  was  the  bridegroom  coming  ?  That  in- 
formation the  bridegroom  himself,  though  Sir 
Henry  Clinton's  Adjutant,  could  not  yet  precisely 
give.  "  We  are  soon  to  make  a  blow  at  the 
Highlands,  —  then  you  will  see  me," — so  he 
wrote,  and  sent  the  message  in  a  silver  bullet. 
Silver  bullets,  walnuts  split  and  glued  together, 
and  stuffed  with  pithy  notes  instead  of  kernels, 
and  all  manner  of  treacherous  tokens,  passed  be- 
tween Brothertoft  Manor  and  the  Red  outposts. 
Whether  facts  leaked  out  from  leaky  old  Put 
when  glasses  too  many  of  the  Brothertoft  Yellow- 
seal  were  under  his  belt ;  whatever  true  or  false 
intelligence  Scrammel  paid  for  his  post  on  Miss 
Lucy's  sofa,  —  every  such  fact  was  presently 
sneaking  away  southward  in  the  pocket  of  young 
Bilsby,  or  some  other  Tory  tenant  on  the  Manor. 

"  I  saw  Miss  Lucy  mopin'  and  mopin'  worse 
and  worse,"  says  Voltaire,  "  but  I  could  n't  do 
nothin',  and  there  I  sot  in  the  pantry,  like  a 
dumb  hoppertoad,  watchin'  a  child  walkin'  up  to 
a  rattlesnake." 

Voltaire's  Faith  without  Works  was  almost 
dead. 

Young  Bilsby  must  have  sneaked  up  to  Broth- 
erlot't  Manor  with  the  news  of  Clinton's  expedi- 


156  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

tion  to  the  relief  of  Burgoyne,  just  at  the  time 
that  Mr.  Brothertoft's  announcement  of  his  pres- 
ence at  Fishkill  reached  Voltaire. 

"  I  did  not  dare  tell  Miss  Lucy  her  father  was 
so  near,"  says  the  major-domo,  "  until,  all  at 
once,  on  the  fourth  of  this  month,  we  saw  King 
George's  ships  lying  off  King's  Ferry ;  and  by 
and  by  up  the  hill  comes  Major  Kerr  to  the 
Manor-House,  red  as  a  beet." 

Upon  this  arrival,  Lucy  first  fully  compre- 
hended what  misery  the  maternal  fiat  was  to 
bring  upon  her.  Yoltaire  found  her  weeping 
and  utterly  desolate.  At  once  his  Faith  worked 
out  words.  The  dumb  hoppertoad  found  voice 
to  croak,  "  Ware  rattlesnake !  " 

*'  You  are  going  to  be  married,  Miss  Lucy  ?  " 
he  asked. 

She  wanted  sympathy  sadly,  poor  child !  As 
soon  as  he  spoke,  she  made  a  tableau  and  a  scene, 
—  both  tragic.  She  laid  her  head  on  the  old 
fellow's  shoulder,  —  Tableau.  She  burst  into 
tears,  —  Scene. 

Woolly  wig  and  black  phiz  bent  over  fair  hair 
and  pale  face.  Delicate  lips  of  a  fine  old  Lin- 
colnshire stock  murmured  a  plaint.  Thick  lips 
of  coarse  old  African  stock  muttered  a  vow  of 
devotion.  A  little,  high-bred  hand,  veined  with 
fang-re  azul,  yielded  itself  to  the  leathery  pres- 
sure of  a  brown  paw.  Ah,  poor  child  !  she  had 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  157 

need  of  a  friend,  and  was  not  critical  as  to 
color. 

"  To  be  married  ? "  Lucy  responded,  when 
sobs  would  let  her  speak.  "  Yes,  Voltaire,  in 
three  or  four  days." 

"  Time  's  short  as  Sappho's  best  pie-crust." 

"  Mother  says,"  continued  the  young  lady, 
"  that  I  must  have  a  protector.  The  Major  is 
here  now,  and  may  be  ordered  up  or  down  any 
day.  Mother  says  it  is  providential,  and  we 
must  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  and  be 
married  at  once." 

She  looked  very  little  like  a  bride,  with  her 
£«id,  shrinking  face. 

"  Don't  you  love  Major  Kerr  ? "  asked  Vol- 
taire. "  Lub  "  he  always  must  pronounce  this 
liquid  verb. 

"Do  I  love  him,  Voltaire ?  I  hope  to  when 
we  are  married.  Mother  says  I  will.  She  says 
the  ceremony  and  the  ring  will  make  another 
person  of  me.  She  says  she  has  chosen  me  an 
excellent  match,  and  I  must  be  satisfied.  O 
Voltaire  !  it  seems  a  sin  to  say  it,  but  my  mother 
is  cold  and  harsh  with  me.  Perhaps  I  do  not 
understand  her.  If  I  only  had  some  other 
friend  ! " 

"  You  have,"  Voltaire  announced. 

"You  —  I  know,"  she  said,  kindly. 

"  Closer  —  miles  closer  'n  me  !  " 


158  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Who  ?  Do  you  mean  any  one  of  our  loyal- 
ist neighbors  ?  " 

Lucy  ran  her  thought  over  her  short  list  of 
friends.  All  the  valued  names  had  been  ex- 
punged by  her  mother's  strict  censorship,  or 
pushed  back  among  mere  acquaintance. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  your  father  ?  "  the  but- 
ler asked. 

"  Forgotten  !  I  go  every  day,  when  no  one 
is  by,  and  lift  up  the  corner  of  the  curtain  over 
the  Vandyck.  Our  ancestor  is  my  father  him- 
self. I  look  at  him,  and  pray  God  to  forgive 
him  for  being  so  wicked,  and  breaking  my  moth- 
er's heart." 

"  Poh  ! " 

Lucy  drew  back  in  astonishment,  as  if  a  Paix- 
han  blow-gun  had  exploded  at  her  side. 

"  Poh !  "  again  burst  out  Voltaire's  double- 
corked  indignation.  "  If  there  was  a  wicked 
one  in  that  pair,  it  was  n't  him.  If  there  's  a 
heart  broke,  it  's  his." 

Lucy  for  a  moment  did  not  think  of  this  as 
an  assault  upon  her  mother. 

"  What,  Voltaire  !  "  she  cried.  "  He  is  not 
dead  !  Not  a  bad  man  !  Not  a  rebel !  " 

"  Rebel ! "  says  the  French  radical's  name- 
sake. "  Why  should  n't  he  be  a  rebel  for  Free- 
dom ?  Bad  !  he  ain't  bad  enough  to  marry  off 
his  daughter  only  to  git  shet  of  her.  Dead ! 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  159 

No,  Miss  Lucy ;  lie  's  up  to  Fishkill,  and  sends 
you  his  lub  by  me,  if  you  want  it." 

Love  —  even  disguised  as  "  Lub  "  —  it  was 
such  a  fair  angel  of  light,  that  Lucy  looked  up 
and  greeted  it  with  a  smile.  Bat  this  was  not 
a  day  for  smiles.  Storms  were  come  after  long 
gray  weather.  Only  tears  now,  —  bitter  tears  ! 
They  must  flow,  sweet  sister !  It  is  the  old, 
old  story. 

"  Does  he  really  love  me  ?  Is  this  true  ?  Was 
he  true?  Was  I  deceived?  Why  did  he  and 
my  mother  separate  ?  Why  did  she  drive  him 
out  ?  Whom  can  I  trust  ?  Is  every  one  a 
liar  ?  What  does  this  mean  ?  Answer  me,  Vol- 
taire !  Answer  me,  or  I  shall  die." 

Voltaire  looked,  and  did  not  answer.  To  an- 
swer was  a  terrible  revelation  to  make  to  this 
innocent  girl.  Faith  was  putting  the  old  fellow 
to  very  cruel  Works. 

"  Speak !  "  said  Lucy  again,  more  passionately 
than  before,  and  her  voice  expressed  the  birth  of 
a  new  force  within  her.  "  Speak  !  What  have 
you  to  say  of  my  mother  ?  I  dread  some  new 
sorrow.  Tell  me  what  it  is,  or  I  shall  die." 

Again  these  pages  refuse  to  listen  to  the  few 
deplorable  words  of  his  reply.  He  whispered 
the  secret  of  her  mother's  disloyal  life. 

"  I  will  not  believe-  it,"  said  the  horror-stricken 
girl. 


160  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

She  did  believe  it. 

She  had  touched  the  clew.  From  this  moment 
she  knew  the  past  and  the  present,  —  vaguely,  as 
a  pure  soul  may  know  the  mystery  of  sin. 

For  the  moment  she  felt  herself  crushed  to  a 
deeper  despair  than  before.  She  recognized  the 
great  overpowering  urgency  of  Fate.  She  could 
not  know  that  this  recognition  marks  to  the  soul 
its  first  step  into  conscious  immortality  ;  and  that 
the  inevitable  struggle  to  conquer  Fate  must  now 
begin  in  her  soul. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  she  said ;  and  she  looked 
guiltily  about  the  chamber,  as  if  every  object  in 
that  house  were  the  accomplice  of  a  sin. 

"  Run  away  with  me  to  your  father !  "  said 
Voltaire. 

She  shook  her  head  weakly.  She  was  a  great, 
great  way  yet  from  any  such  exploit  with  her  in- 
fant will. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  I  must  obey  my  mother. 
That  is  my  plain  duty.  She  is  pledged  and  I 
am  pledged  to  this  marriage.  I  must  submit." 
Tears  again,  poor  child !  The  old  habits  are  still 
too  strong  for  her. 

"  But  suppose  your  father  should  tell  you  tc 
obey  him,  and  not  submit,"  Yoltaire  propounded. 
"  Suppose  he  should  help  to  run  you  off." 

"  How  can  he  ?  " 

"  I  will  steal  off  to-night  to  Fishkill,  and  seo 
Mm." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  161 

"  You  risk  your  life." 

«  Poh  !  " 

"  Poh  !  "  is  not  a  word  to  use  to  a  young  lady, 
Mr.  Voltaire.  Yet  perhaps  nothing  could  ex- 
press so  well  as  that  explosive  syllable  how 
much  and  how  little  he  valued  life  when  the 
lady's  happiness  was  at  stake. 

"  But  I  did  n't  want  Miss  Lucy  to  be  fright- 
ened, of  course,"  says  he  to  Major  Skerrett,  "  so 
I  told  her  that  I  was  safe  enough  in  the  High- 
lands, and  when  I  got  here  I  did  n't  believe  Major 
Scrammel  would  let  me  be  shot  for  a  spy." 

Here  he  gave  a  monstrous  sly  look. 

Peter  Skerrett  again  felt  his  cheeks  burn,  and 
his  forehead  tingle,  and  the  stilled  Muse  of  His- 
tory reports  that  "  he  uttered  a  phrase  indicative 
of  reprehension  and  distrust." 

In  short,  he  said  to  himself,  "  Scrammel !  damn 
the  fellow ! " 

Certainly !  Why  not  ?  But  it  must  not  be 
forgotten,  that  it  is  Scrammel  who  suggested  this 
expedition.  Voltaire  told  Scrammel  of  the  mar- 
riage. Scrammel,  as  our  peep  into  friend  Liv- 
ingston's brain  informed  us,  would  do  one  of  his 
meanest  tricks  to  be  himself  the  bridegroom. 
And  his  scheme  seems  to  be  in  a  fair  way  to  for- 
bid the  banns. 

And  so  guileless  Lucy  Brothertoft  had  con- 
sented to  her  first  plot.  Her  accomplice  was  to 


162  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

shift  the  burden  of  weakness  from  her  shoulders, 
and  throw  it  upon  her  father.  Meantime  she 
was  to  tako  her  place  at  the  great  dinner-party, 
and  be  a  hypocrite  for  the  first  time.  How 
guilty  frU  that  innocent  heart !  How  she  dread- 
ed lest  some  chance  word  or  look  might  betray 
her !  What  torture  was  the  burning  blush  in 
her  cheeks  as  she  began  to  comprehend  the  wo- 
man she  must  name  mother !  How  she  trem- 
bled lest  that  woman's  cruel  eyes  should  pierce 
her  bosom,  see  the  secret  there,  and  consign  her, 
without  even  the  appointed  delay,  to  the  ardent 
bridegroom.  She  knew  that  she  should  yield 
and  obey.  Now  that  for  the  first  time  she  was 
eager  to  have  a  will  of  her  own,  she  saw  how 
untrained  and  inefficient  this  will  was.  Horror 
of  her  mother,  and  loathing  of  her  betrothed, 
each  repelled  her  in  turn.  She  seemed  to  see 
herself  praying  for  mercy  to  the  woman,  and  she 
coldly  refusing  to  listen ;  then  flying  across  the 
stage,  and  supplicating  the  man  to  spare  her, 
and  he,  instead,  triumphing  with  coarse  fond- 
ness. Ah,  unhappy  lady  !  with  no  friend  except 
that  stout-hearted  old  squire,  shinning  by  night 
through  the  Highlands,  and  dodging  sentries  at 
risk  of  a  shot,  —  a  shot,  that  startling  trochee, 
sharp  ictus,  and  faint  whiz. 

Except  for  the   Majors,  —  Scrammcl  to  plot, 
Skcrrett  to  execute,  —  Voltaire's  evasion  would 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  163 

have  been  in  vain.  Edwin  Brothertoft  was  par- 
alyzed by  the  news  of  his  daughter's  danger. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  he  said  to  the  old  servant, 
bitterly.  "  Nothing !  Nothing !  Is  General  Put- 
nam, just  defeated,  likely  to  march  down  to  rescue 
my  daughter  ?  These  are  not  the  days  of  chiv- 
alry. Knights  do  not  come  at  call,  when  dam- 
sels are  in  distress.  No  ;  I  am  impotent  to  help 
her.  If  she  cannot  help  herself,  her  heart  must 
break,  as  mine  has  broken.  That  base  woman 
will  crush  her  life,  as  she  crushed  mine.  Why 
did  you  come  to  me  ?  You  have  brought  me 
news  that  I  may  love  my  daughter,  only  to  make 
the  new  love  a  cause  of  deeper  misery.  Why 
did  you  tell  me  of  this  insult  to  her  woman- 
hood ?  I  had  enough  to  endure  before.  Go ! 
What  can  I  say  to  her  ?  She  will  not  care  for  a 
futile  message,  '  that  I  love  her,  but  can  do 
nothing.'  Some  stronger  head  than  mine  might 
devise  a  plan.  Some  stronger  heart  might  dare. 
But  I  have  given  up.  I  am  a  defeated  man,  —  a 
broken-hearted  man,  living  from  day  to  day, 
and  incompetent  to  vigor.  I  remember  my- 
self another  person.  I  sometimes  feel  the  old 
fire  stir  and  go  out.  But  I  can  do  nothing. 
My  fate  and  my  daughter's  fate  are  one.  Go, 
Voltaire,  and  leave  me  to  my  utter  sorrow  and 
despair! " 

He    had    but  just  dismissed   the  negro,  and 


164  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

turned  a  despondent  back  upon  the  world, — 
when  lo!  Peter  Skerrett,  as  we  saw  him,  comes 
forth.  Here  comes  the  Captor  of  Captives,  the 
Hero  of  Ballads !  Here  come  chivalry,  youth, 
ardor,  force,  confidence,  success,  all  in  a  body, 
—  a  regiment  of  victor  traits  in  one  man,  and 
on  that  man's  lip  THE  MOUSTACHE,  the  best 
in  the  Continental  army.  Here  comes  a  man 
whose  timepiece  has  never  learnt  to  mark  "  Too 
late."  Here  he  comes,  and  he  has  made  it  his 
business  to  eliminate  Kerr  from  the  problem  of 
Brothertoft  Manor  ;  so  that  Kerr  -}-  Lucy  =  Bliss 
will  be  for  a  time  an  impossible  equation. 

Take  courage,  then,  Edwin  Brothertoft,  tender 
of  heart,  sick  at  will,  and  thank  Heaven  that 
you  married  your  gunstock  to  the  brainpan  of 
that  British  beggar  with  a  baggonet  at  Bunker 
Hill,  and  so  saved  Skerrett  to  help  you. 

Voltaire's  story,  with  additions  and  improve- 
ments, now  ends,  and  business  proceeds. 


VII. 

"  AFTER  this  history,  I  want  a  little  topog- 
raphy," said  Skerrett.  "  Can  you  sketch  me 
a  ground  plan  of  the  house  ? " 

That  skeleton,  Brothertoft  could  draw  with- 
out much  feeling.  The  house,  as  it  stood,  com- 
plete in  the  background  of  memory,  he  would 
not  allow  himself  to  recall.  Its  walls  and  fur- 
niture were  to  him  the  unshifted  scenes  and 
properties  of  a  tragedy.  If  he  painted  them 
before  his  mind's  eye,  an  evil-omened  figure  of 
a  woman  would  step  from  behind  the  curtain, 
threatening  some  final  horror,  to  close  the  drama 
of  their  lives. 

"  This  wing  to  the  right,"  Skerrett  said,  "  seems 
an  addition." 

"  It  was  built  on  by  the  present  proprietress," 
coldly  rejoined  the  former  heir. 

"  Stables  here  1 "  continued  the  Major,  tracing 
the  plan.  "  Dining-room  windows  open  toward 
them.  Shrubbery  here,  not  too  far  off  for  an 
ambush.  Now,  Voltaire,  if  we  could  get  Major 
Kerr  alone  in  that  dining-room  in  the  dusk 


166  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

of  tlie  evening  to-morrow,  I  could  walk  him  off 
easily." 

"  Ho ! "  exclaims  the  butler.  "  That  's  all 
settled  beforehand." 

"  Kerr  sometimes  makes  late  sittings  there, 
then  ?  I  fancied  I  knew  his  habits." 

"  He  's  a  poor  hand  at  courtin',"  says  Vol- 
taire, with  contempt.  "  Ladies  likes  dewotion, — 
that  's  my  'sperience.  He  's  only  dewoted  to 
fillin'  hisself  full  of  wine." 

"A  two-bottle  man?" 

"  Every  day,  when  the  ladies  leave  table,  he  rubs 
his  hands,"  —  Voltaire  imitates,  —  "  and  says, 
'Now  then,  old  boy,  fresh  bottle!  Yellow-seal! 
Don't  shake  him ! '  He  drinks  that  pretty  slow, 
and  gives  me  a  glass  and  says,  '  Woolly-head, 
we  '11  drink  my  pretty  Lucy.  Lucky  Kerr's 
pretty  bride ! ' " 

Peter  Skerrett  here  looked  ferocious. 

"  Then,"  continued  the  old  fellow,  "  he  drops 
off  asleep  at  the  table  till  four  o'clock.  Then 
he  wakes  up,  sour,  and  sings  out,"  —  Voltaire  imi- 
tates, —  u '  Hullo,  you  dam  nigger !  Look  sharp ! 
Another  bottle  !  If  you  shake  him,  I  '11  cut  your 
black  heart  out.'  He  drinks  him,  and  then 
byme-by  he  says,  '  Ole  fel !  Shmore  wide,  ole 
fel.  Tuther  boddle  dow !  I  ashkitspussonle 
favor,  ole  fel ! '  Then  he  sings  a  little,  and  gets 
generally  accelerated." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  1G7 

"  I  would  rather  have  him  slowed,  than  ac- 
celerated," says  Peter. 

"  Oho ! "  grinned  the  butler,  and  whispered 
to  himself,  "  If  the  Major  thinks  he  ought  to 
be  stupid-tipsy  for  the  good  of  the  cause  and 
Miss  Lucy,  I  can  deteriorate  him,  into  his  Ma- 
deira, with  a  little  drop  of  our  French  Gutter  de 
Rosy  brandy.  That  will  take  the  starch  out  of 
his  legs,  and  make  him  easy  to  handle.  But  that 
is  my  business.  I  won't  tell  nobody  my  secrets. 
The  pantry  and  I  must  keep  dark." 

"  I  cannot  help  a  grain  of  compunction  in 
this  matter,"  Skerrett  said.  "  A  gentleman 
does  not  like  to  interfere  in  another  man's 
courtship." 

"  Do  you  call  this  plot  of  a  coarse  man  with 
an  unmotherly  woman  by  the  fair,  name  of  court- 
ship ?  "  Brothertoft  said. 

"  No.  And  fortunately  the  lady  has  no  illu- 
sions. I  should  not  like  to  be  the  one  to  tell 
Beauty  she  had  loved  Beast.  But  this  Beauty, 
it  seems,  lias  kept  her  heart  too  pure  to  have 
lost  her  fine  maidenly  instinct  of  aversion  to  a 
blackguard.  Well,  no  more  metaphysics  !  Scru- 
ples be  hanged.  Kerr  don't  deserve  to  be  treated 
like  a  gentleman.  England  should  have  kept 
such  fellows  at  home,  if  she  wanted  us  to  believe 
good  manners  were  possible  under  a  monarchy. 
Now,  then,  Mr.  Brothertoft,  suppose  I  do  not 


1G8  EDWIN   BBOTHERTOFT. 

get  myself  *  hanged  as  one  espy,'  and  take  my 
prisoner,  —  does  his  capture  protect  your  daugh- 
ter enough  ?  " 

"  I  could  wish,  if  it  were  possible,  to  have  her 
with  me  henceforth." 

"  We  must  make  it  possible,  though  it  com- 
plicates matters.  I  could  rush  in,  snatch  Kerr, 
and  be  off.  The  blow  would  be  struck,  the 
enemy  annoyed,  our  people  amused;  but  in  a 
fortnight  Clinton  would  offer  some  Yankee  major 
and  a  brace  of  captains  to  boot  for  his  Adjutant, 
the  Honorable,  &c.  Then  he  would  go  down  and 
play  Beast  to  Beauty  again." 

"  Save  my  daughter,  once  for  all ;  if  it  can  be 
done." 

"  I  '11  try.     Now,  Voltaire,  listen  !  " 

Which  he  opened  his  mouth  to  do. 

"  What  people,  besides  the  two  ladies  and 
Major  Kerr,  will  be  at  your  house  to-morrow 
evening,  —  the  servants,  I  mean?" 

"Oh!  we  live  small  at  the  Manor,  now,  — 
ridiculous  small.  It  's  war  times  now.  Rents 
is  n't  paid.  When  we  want  a  proper  lot  of  ser- 
vants, we  takes  clodhoppers." 

"  Lucky  for  my  plans  you  do  live  small," 
Skerrett  said.  "  Never  mind  your  family  pride  ! 
Name  the  household  !  " 

"  Me  and  Sappho  and  Plato,  all  patriots ; 
Jierck  Dewitt's  wife  and  her  sister,  Sally  Bilsby, 


EDWIN    BROTHERTOFT.  169 

both  Tories,  —  that  is,  gals  that  likes  redcoats 
more  than  is  good  for  'em." 

"  Could  you  manage  to  have  the  girls  out  of 
the  way  to-morrow  evening  ?  " 

"  Easy  enough.  They  '11  be  glad  to  get  away 
for  a  frolic." 

"Any  horses  in  your  stable,  Voltaire  ?  " 

"Six, —  all  out  of  that  Harriet  Heriot  mare 
stock.  You  remember,  Master  Edwin." 

Edwin  Brothertoft  did  sadly  remember  the  late 
old  Sam  Galsworthy's  generous  offer.  He  re- 
membered sadly  that  ride,  so  many  years  ago, 
and  how  the  sweet  south  winds,  laden  with  the 
rustle  of  tropic  palms,  met  him  with  fair  omen, 
—  ah  !  long  ago,  when  Faith  was  blind  and  Hope 
was  young ! 

"  Six  white  horses,"  Voltaire  continued ;  "  the 
four  carriage-horses,  Madam's  horse,  and  Miss 
Lucy's  mare,  —  you  ought  to  see  Miss  Lucy  on 
her!" 

"  Perhaps  I  shall.  Tell  Plato  to  give  the  mare 
another  oat  to-morrow  !  Her  mistress  may  want 
a  canter  in  the  evening,  —  eh,  Voltaire  ?  " 

Grin  in  response. 

"  Tell  Miss  Brothertoft,  with  her  father's  best 
love,"  Skerrett  resumed,  "  that  he  will  be  on 
the  lawn  by  the  dining-room  window  to-morrow 
evening  at  nine  o'clock,  waiting  for  her  to  rido 
with  him  to  Fishkill.  Tell  her  to  be  brave,  pru- 

8 


170  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

dent,  and  keep  out  of  sight  with  a  headache, 
until  she  is  called  to  start.  And  you,  Voltaire, 
as  you  love  her,  be  cautious,  be  secret  and  be 
wide  awake !  " 

At  "  be  cautious,"  the  old  fellow  winked  elab- 
orately. At  "  be  secret,"  he  locked  all  four 
eyelids  tight.  At  "  be  wide  awake,"  —  snap  ! 
eyelids  flung  open,  and  white  of  eye  enough 
appeared  to  dazzle  a  sharpshooter. 

"  Now,  listen,  Voltaire  !  " 

Mouth  agape,  again,  as  if  he  had  a  tympanum 
at  each  tonsil. 

"  Look  at  me,  carefully  !  "  continues  Peter. 

Pan  shut  and  eyes  a  la  saucer. 

"  Do  you  think  you  would  know  me  disguised 
in  a  red  coat  ?  " 

Pan  opened  to  explode,  "  Certain  sure,  sir !  " 

"  And  without  my  moustache  ?  "  the  major 
asked. 

He  gave  that  feature  a  tender  twirl.  His 
fingers  wrapped  the  fair  tendrils  lovingly  around 
them. 

"  Must  it  go  ?  "  he  sighed.  "  0  Chivalry  ! 
0  Liberty  !  0  my  Country !  what  sacrifices  you 
demand  !  " 

Voltaire  was  sure  that  he  would  know  the 
Hero,  even  with  an  emasculated  lip. 

"  Well ;  about  eight  to-morrow  evening,  when 
Major  Kerr  is  '  accelerated  '  with  his  second 


EDWIN    BROTHERTOFT.  171 

bottle,  I  shall  knock  at  your  loyal  door,  —  mous- 
tache off,  and  red  coat  on  —  and  ask  a  night's 
lodging  for  a  benighted  British  sergeant." 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  says  the  major-domo, 
"vith  a  grand-seigneur  manner. 

"  Nothing  but  apple-jack  or  Jersey  cham- 
pagne has  passed  these  lips,  since  we  lost  the 
.Grandywine.  You  will  naturally  give  me  my 
bottle  of  Yellow-seal,  and  my  bite  of  supper, 
5*i  the  dining-room  with  the  Major." 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Voltaire  with  sudden  panic. 
"  Don't  risk  it !  Major  Kerr  's  got  a  sword  awful 
long  and  awful  sharp,  and  two  pistols  with  gold 
bandies,  plum  full  of  bullets.  Every  day,  when 
he  drinks,  he  puts  'em  on  the  sideboard,  an'  he 
say,  *  Lookerheeyar,  ole  darkey !  spose  dam  reb- 
b!e  cum,  I  stick  him,  so ;  an'  I  shoot  him,  so.' 
Don't  resk  it,  Mas'r  Skerrett!" 

(Ancient  servitor,  suppress  thy  terror  and  thy 
Tombigbee  together!) 

"  Slip  off  with  the  weapons,  and  hiue  'em  in 
your  bed,"  says  the  Major. 

"  In  my  bed  ?  "  says  Voltaire,  in  good  Conti- 
nental again.  "  In  our  feather  bed  ?  Suppose 
Sappho  goes  to  lie  down,  and  touches  cold  iron, 
wont  she  take  on  scollops,  high  ?  " 

"  The  poetess  must  not  be  taught  to  strike 
a  jangling  lyre.  Give  the  tools  to  Plato.  Set 
him  on  guard  at  the  dining-room  door  when 


172  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

I  come.  Tell  him  he  is  serving  a  model  Re- 
public,—  such  as  his  ancient  namesake  never 
dreamed." 

Brothertoft  smiled  at  these  classical  allusions. 
Lively  talk  was  encouraging  him,  as  his  junior 
meant  it  should. 

Neither  foresaw  what  a  ghastly  mischief  was 
to  follow  this  arming  of  Plato. 


VIII. 

"  Now,  Voltaire,  the  sooner  you  are  on  your 
way  back,  to  warn  and  comfort  your  young 
lady,  the  better,"  said  Skerrett.  "  I  'm  sorry 
for  your  shins  among  the  Highlands  by  night." 

"  Never  mind  my  shins,"  Voltaire  replied 
with  a  martyr  air.  "  They  belong  to  my  coun- 
try and  Miss  Lucy." 

He  passed  his  hand  tenderly  along  their  curvi- 
linear edges,  as  if  he  were  feeling  a  scymitar, 
before  a  blow.  They  were  sadly  nicked,  poor 
things !  They  would  be  lacerated  anew,  as  he 
brandished  them  at  the  briers,  and  smote  with 
them  the  stumps  along  his  twenty-mile  ana- 
basis. 

"  Farewell,  my  trump  of  trumps,"  said  the 
Major.  "  Remember ;  be  cautious,  be  secret,  be 
wide  awake ! " 

Same  pantomime  as  before  in  reply. 

"  If  Mrs.  Brothertoft  suspects  anything,  there 
will  be  tragedy,"  Peter  continued. 

So  all  three  knew,  and  shuddered  to  think. 

"  I  will  walk  a  little  way  with  my  friend," 


174  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

said  Brothertoft,  "I  have  a  more  hopeful  mes- 
sage now  to  send  to  my  dear  child." 

Peter  watched  the  two  contrasted  figures  until 
they  disappeared  in  the  glow  of  the  many-col- 
ored forest. 

"  Lovely  old  gentleman  !  "  he  thought.  "  Yes ; 
*  lovely '  is  the  word.  My  first  encounter  with 
a  broken  heart.  It  has  stopped  my  glee  for  a 
long  time  to  come.  I  have  felt  tears  in  my 
eyes,  all  the  while,  and  only  kept  them  down 
by  talking  low  comedy  with  the  serio-comic 
black  personage.  Can  a  broken  heart  be  mended  ? 
That  is  always  woman's  work,  I  suppose.  In 
this  case,  too,  woman  broke,  woman  must  re- 
pair. The  daughter  must  make  over  what  the 
wife  spoilt.  She  shall  be  saved  for  his  sake  and 
ner  own,  even  if  I  come  out  of  the  business 
an  amputated  torso.  I  don't  quite  comprehend 
people  that  cannot  help  themselves.  But  here 
I  see  the  fact,  —  there  are  such.  And  I  sup- 
pose exuberant  chaps,  like  myself,  are  put  in 
the  world  to  help  them.  I  wonder  whether 
any  woman  will  break  my  heart !  I  wonder 
whether  Miss  Lucy  liked  any  of  our  fellows, 
and  had  a  hero  in  her  eye  to  make  Kerr  look 
more  caitiff  than  he  is.  Could  not  be  Scram- 
mel,  —  he  is  a  sneak.  Could  not  be  Radierc, — 
he  is  too  dyspeptic.  Nor  Humphreys,  —  too  pom- 
pous. Nor  Livingston,  —  he  is  not  sentimental 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  175 

enough.  Nor  Skerrctt,  —  him  she  has  never 
seen  and  will  see  with  his  moustache  off.  Ah ! 
the  Chief  was  right  when  he  told  me  I  should 
put  my  foot  into  some  adventure  up  here.  And 
now  the  thing  is  started,  I  must  set  it  moving." 

He  walked  toward  Jierck  Dewitt,  still  on 
guard  at  the  gate.  His  relief  was  just  coming 
up,  and  the  sentry  was  at  liberty. 

"  Did  you  know  those  two  men  I  was  talking 
with,  by  the  well,  Jierck  ? "  Peter  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  Sergeant  Lincoln  and  Lady  Broth- 
ertoft's  factotum.  I  'd  like  to  know  what  old 
Voltaire  wanted  here." 

"  He  does  not  recognize  the  ex-Patroon,"  Sker- 
rett  thought.  "  Then  no  one  will.  Jierck's  eyes 
always  saw  a  little  lighter  in  the  dark,  and  a 
little  steadier  in  a  glare,  than  the  next  man's. 
Sorrow  must  have  clapped  a  thick  mask  on  my 
friend's  face." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  the  Brothertoft  Manor 
country  and  the  Manor-House  thoroughly, 
Jierck,"  the  Major  said. 

"  Know  the  Manor,  sir !  I  should  think  so. 
I  began  with  chasing  tumble-bugs  and  crickets 
over  it,  and  studied  it  inch  by  inch.  Then  I 
trailed  black-snakes  and  ran  rabbits,  and  got  to 
know  it  rod  by  rod.  I  've  fished  in  every  brook, 
and  dumb  every  nut-tree,  and  poked  into  every 
woodcock  swamp  or  patridge  brush  from  end 


176  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

to  end  of  it.  I  know  it,  woodland  and  clearing, 
side-hill  and  swale,  fields  that  grow  stun  and 
fields  that  grow  corn.  I  've  run  horses  over  it, 
where  horses  is  to  be  run,  —  and  that  's  not 
much,  for  its  awful  humpy  country,  and  boul- 
ders won't  stay  put  anywheres.  Deer,  too, — 
there  ain't  many  pieces  of  woods  on  it  where  I 
have  n't  routed  out  deers,  and  when  they  legged 
for  the  Highlands,  I  legged  too,  and  come  to 
know  the  Highlands  just  as  well.  I  used  to  love, 
when  I  was  a  boy,  to  go  along  on  the  heights 
above  the  river,  and  pick  out  places  where  I  was 
going  to  live ;  but  I  sha'n't  live  in  any  of  'em 
now.  What  does  a  man  care  about  home,  or 
living  at  all,  when  his  woman  is  n't  true  ?  " 

Major  Skerrett  did  not  interrupt  this  burst  of 
remembrances.  "  Jierck  suffers  as  much  in  his 
way,"  he  thought,  "  as  the  ex-Patroon."  "  And 
the  house,"  he  said,  "  you  know  that  as  thor- 
oughly ? " 

"  Ay,  from  garret  to  cellar.  My  father, 
Squire  Dewitt,  has  been  in  England,  and  lie 
says  it 's  more  like  an  English  house  than  any 
he  knows,  in  small.  From  garret  to  cellar,  says 
I.  The  cellar  I  ought  to  know  pretty  well.  I 
dodged  in  there  once,  when  I  was  a  boy,  hangin' 
round  the  house ;  and  got  into  the  wine-room, 
and  drank  stuff  that  came  near  spoilin'  my  taste 
for  rum  forever,  —  I  wish  it  had.  They  caught 


EDWIN   BEOTHERTOFT.  177 

me,  and  the  Madam  had  me  whipped  till  the 
blood  come.  Mr.  Brothertoft  tried  to  beg  off  for 
me.  She  'd  got  not  to  make  much  of  him  by 
that  time,  and  the  more  he  begged,  the  harder 
she  had  'em  lay  it  on  me.  But  I  'in  talkin'  off, 
stiddy  as  the  North  River,  and  you  've  got  some- 
thing to  say  to  me,  Major,  I  know,  by  the  way 
you  look.  What  's  up  about  Brothertoft  Ma- 
nor ?  " 

"  There  's  a  British  officer  staying  there,  who 
has  never  tasted  pork  and  beans.  I  've  prom- 
ised General  Putnam  to  bring  him  up  here  to 
dinner." 

"  Hooray !  that  's  right.  Give  these  militia 
something  to  think  about,  or  they  get  to  believe 
war  's  like  general  trainin'-day,  and  they  can  cut 
for  home  when  they  're  tired.  You  want  volun- 
teers. I  'm  one." 

"  I  counted  on  you  for  my  lieutenant.  Ser- 
geant Lincoln  also  goes.  Now  I  want  three  men 
more,  and  you  shall  choose  them.  Each  man 
must  have  the  grit  of  a  hundred  ;  and  they  must 
know  the  country  as  well  as  they  know  the  way 
to  breakfast.  Name  three,  Jierck  ! " 

"  That  I  '11  do,  bang.  There  's  Ike  Van  Wart, 
for  one.  His  junto,  him  and  Jack  Paulding  and 
Dave  Williams,  would  just  make  the  three.  But 
Jack  's  nabbed,  and  down  to  York  in  a  prison- 
ship.  And  Dave  's  off  on  furlough,  sowing  his 
8*  », 


178  EDWIN   BROTHEETOFT. 

father's  winter  wheat  for  the  Cowboys  to  tromp 
next  summer." 

Only  Isaac  Yan  Wart,  therefore,  of  that  fa- 
mous trio,  whom  the  Muse  of  Tradition  shall 
fondly  nickname 

MAJOR  ANDRE'S  BOOTJACK, 

joined  Skerrett  on  his  perilous  service. 

"  Ike  for  one,"  continued  Dewitt.  "  Well, 
Galsworthy,  old  Sam  Galsworthy,  for  two.  And 
for  three,  I  don't  believe  a  better  man  lives 
than  Hendrecus  Canady,  the  root-doctor's  son. 
They  're  all  Brothertoft-Manor  boys,  built  of 
the  best  cast-steel,  and  strung  with  the  wiriest 
kind  of  wire.  Shoot  bullets  into  'em,  stick  bag- 
gonets  into  'em  ;  they  don't  mind  the  bullets  any 
more  than  spit-balls  at  school,  nor  the  baggonets 
more  than  witches  do  pins." 

"  Well,  Jierck,  have  them  here  in  an  hour.  I 
will  join  you,  and  talk  the  trip  over,  and  we  will 
be  ready  to  start  at  sunset." 

Skerrett  found  himself  a  horse,  trotted  back 
to  Fishkill,  wrote  a  farewell  to  his  step-brother 
and  his  mother,  and  scratched  a  few  irrepres- 
sible lines  to  Washington,  such  as  the  hero  loved 
to  get  from  his  boys,  and  valued  much  more  than 
lumbering  despatches  marked  Official.  The  de- 
spatches only  announced  facts,  good  or  bad.  The 
brisk,  gallant  notes  revealed  spirits  which  black 


EDWIN   BROTHEP.TOFT  179 

facts  could  not  darken,  nor  heavy  facts  depress. 
"  So  long  as  I  have  lads  like  Peter  Skcrrett," 
thought  Our  George,  by  the  grace  of  God  Pater 
Patriae,  when  he  received  this  note,  a  fortnight 
after  that  cup-lip-and-slip  battle  of  Germantovvn, 
"  while  I  have  such  lads  with  me,  I  can  leave  my 
red  paint  in  my  saddle-bags  with  my  Tuscarora 
grammar." 

"  Now,"  thought  Peter,  "  I  have  made  my  will 
and  written  my  despatch,  1  must  proceed  to 
change  myself  into  a  redcoat." 

He  unpacked  a  British  sergeant's  uniform, 
which  he  had  carried,  if  disguise  should  be 
needed  in  his  late  solitary  journey. 

"  There  is  a  garment,"  said  he,  holding  up  the 
coat  with  an  air  of  respect,  "  whose  pockets  have 
felt  the  King's  shilling.  But  thy  pockets,  old 
buff  and  blue!"  —  he  stripped  off  his  own  coat, 
— "  never  knew  bullion,  though  often  stuffed 
with  Continental  paper  at  a  pistareen  the  pound 
avoirdupois." 

His  weather-beaten  scarlets  were  much  too 
smill  for  the  tall  champion.  By  spasm  and 
pause,  and  spasm  again,  however,  he  managed 
to  squeeze  into  them  at  last. 

Then  he  took  Mrs.  Birdsell's  little  equilateral 
triangle  of  mirror,  three  inches  to  a  side,  and, 
holding  it  off  at  arm's  length,  surveyed  himself 
by  sections. 


180  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  The  color  don't  suit  my  complexion,"  he 
said,  viewing  his  head  and  neck.  "  The  coat 
will  not  button  over  my  manly  chest,  and  I  shall 
have  to  make  it  fast  with  a  lanyard,"  —  here  he 
took  a  view  of  the  rib-region.  "  The  tails  are 
simply  ridiculous,"  —  he  twisted  about  to  bring 
the  glass  to  bear  upon  them.  "  In  short,"  —  and 
he  ran  the  bit  of  mirror  up  and  down,  —  "I  am 
a  scarecrow,  cap  d  pie.  Liberty  herself  would 
not  know  me.  Pretty  costume  to  go  and  see  a 
lady  in !  Confound  women  !  Why  will  wives 
break  husband's  hearts  ?  Why  will  girls  grow 
up  beauties  and  heiresses,  and  become  baits  for 
Brutes  ?  Ah,  Miss  Lucy  Brothertoft !  You  do 
not  know  what  an  inglorious  rig  Peter  Skerrett 
is  submitting  to  for  your  sake.  And  the  worst 
is  to  come.  Alas !  the  worst  must  come  !  " 

He  hoisted  the  looking-glass  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  irresolutely  at  his  face. 

There,  in  its  accustomed  place,  sat  The  Mous- 
tache, blonde  in  color,  heroic  in  curl,  under- 
scoring his  firm  nose,  pointing  and  adorning  the 
handsome  visage. 

,-Skerrett  gazed,  sighed,  and  was  silent. 

•^ervc  him,  Liberty  !    Steel  him,  Chivalry ! 

A  hard  look  crept  over  his  countenance. 

He  clutched  a  short  blade,  pointless ;  but  with, 
an  edge  trenchant  as  wit. 

It  was  a  razor. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  181 

Slash !  And  one  wing  of  The  Moustache  was 
swept  from  the  field. 

Behold  him,  trophy  in  hand  and  miserablo 
that  he  has  won  it! 

Will  resolution  carry  him  through  a  second 
assault  ?  Or  will  he  go  one-sided ;  under  one 
nostril  a  golden  wreath,  under  the  other,  bristles, 
for  a  six-month  ? 

Slash !    The  assassination  is  complete. 

His  lip  is  scalped.  All  is  bald  between  his 
nose  and  mouth.  The  emphasis  is  subtracted 
from  his  countenance.  His  upper  lip,  no  longer 
kept  in  place  by  its  appropriate  back -load,  now 
flies  up  and  becomes  seamed  with  wrinkles. 

And  there  on  the  table  lay  The  Moustache ! 

There  they  lay,  —  the  right  flank  and  the  left 
flank,  side  by  side  in  their  old  posture,  —  the 
mere  exuviae  of  a  diminished  hero. 

Peter  turned  away  weakly  as  a  Samson 
shorn. 

"  Ah,  Liberty  !  Ah,  Chivalry  !  "  he  moaned. 
"  Will  the  good  time  to  come  make  a  sacred 
relic  of  these  yellow  tufts  ? " 

Tradition  reports  that  his  hostess  found  them, 
and  buried  them,  in  an  old  tinder-box,  in  the 
Fishkill  village  graveyard,  where  they  sleep 
among  other  exuviae,  arms,  legs,  torsos,  and 
bodies  of  the  heroes  of  that  time. 

And  now  it  may  be  divined  why  De  Chastel- 


182  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

lux  docs  not  immortalize  the  Skerrett  Mous- 
tache. Perhaps  Peter  kept  his  lip  in  mourning 
until  after  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis.  Per- 
haps, alas !  they  never  grew  again. 

"  It  will  take  gallons  on  gallons  of  this  Octo- 
ber to  put  me  in  good  spirits  again,"  says  the 
Major,  as  he -rode  away. 

The  mellow  air,  all  sweetness,  all  sparkle,  and 
all  perfume,  flowed  up  to  his  lips,  generously. 
He  breathed,  and  breathed,  and  breathed  again 
of  that  free  tap,  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the 
rendezvous  was  buoyant  as  ever. 

The  Orderly,  Brothertoft,  was  awaiting  him, 
and  sat  patient,  but  no  longer  despondent,  look- 
ing through  the  bulky  Highlands,  as  if  they 
were  the  mountains  of  a  dream. 

Jierck  Dewitt  and  his  Three  were  skylarking 
in  a  pumpkin  patch.  Twenty  years  ago  we 
saw  the  same  three,  straddling  and  spurring 
tombstones  in  the  Brothertoft  Manor  graveyard, 
the  day  of  the  last  Patroon's  funeral,  —  the  day 
when  Old  Van  Courtlandt  made  a  Delphic 
Apollo  of  him,  and  foretold,  amid  general  clink 
of  glasses,  that  marriage  of  white  promise  and 
black  performance. 

"  The  child  is  father  of  the  man " ;  and  the 
four  boys  have  grown  up  as  their  fathers'  chil- 
dren should. 

Jierck  Dewitt  has  already  shown  himself,  and 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  183 

related  why  he  is  not  fully  up  to  his  mark  of 
manliness. 

When  he  caught  sight  of  Major  Skerrett,  he 
dropped  a  yellow  bomb,  charged  with  possible 
pumpkin-pies,  which  ho  was  about  to  toss  at 
the  head  of  one  of  his  men,  and  marched  the 
file  up  to  be  reviewed  by  its  leader. 

"  Number  one  is  Ike  Van  Wart,  Major,"  says 
Jierck.  "  His  eyes  a/re  peeled,  if  there  's  any 
ejes  got  their  bark  off  in  the  whole  Thirteen." 

Ike  touched  his  cocked  hat  —  it  was  his  only 
bit  of  uniform  —  and  squared  shoulders  to  be 
looked  at. 

He  was  a  lank  personage,  of  shrewd,  but  rather 
sanctimonious  visage.  War  made  him  a  scout. 
Fate  appointed  him  one  prong  of  Major  Andrews 
Bootjack.  But  Elder  and  Chorister  were  writ- 
ten on  his  face ;  and  he  died  Elder  and  Choris- 
ter of  the  First  Presbyterian  Church  of  Green- 
burgh,  in  Westchester. 

"  Right  about  face,  Ike  !  "  says  Jierck.  "For- 
rud  march,  Old  Sam  Galsworthy !  He  's  grit,  if 
grit  grows.  His  only  fault  is  he  's  too  good- 
natured  to  live." 

Old  Sam  stood  forward,  and  laughed.  As  he 
laughed,  the  last  button  flew  off  his  uniform 
coat.  It  was  much  too  lean  a  coat  for  one  of 
his  increasing  diameter,  and  the  exit  of  that 
final  button  had  long  been  merely  a  question 


184  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

of  time.  Hearty  Old  Sam  may  be  best  de- 
scribed by  pointing  to  his  descendants,  who  in 
our  day  are  the  identical  Sam,  repeated.  Under 
thirty,  they  drive  high-stepping  bays  in  the  wag- 
ons of  the  great  Express  Companies.  They  wear 
ruddy  cheeks,  chinny  beards,  natty  clothes, 
blue  caps  with  a  gilt  button ;  and  rattle  their 
drags  through  from  Flatten  Barrack,  up  Broad- 
way and  back,  at  2  P.  M.,  without  hitting  a 
hub  or  cursing  a  carter.  Everybody  says  Old 
Sam  is  too  good-natured  to  live !  But  lie  does 
live  and  thrive,  and  puts  flesh  on  his  flesh,  and 
dollars  on  his  j  il  3.  Over  thirty,  he  marries, 
as  becomes  a  Galsworthy,  buys  acres  up  the 
river,  raises  red-cheeked  apples  and  children, 
breeds  high-stepping  bays,  and  when  he  takes 
his  annual  nag  to  the  Bull's  Head  for  sale, 
the  knowing  men  there  make  bets,  and  win 
them,  that  Old  Squire  Sam  weighs  at  least  two 
hundred  and  forty  pounds  with  his  coat  off. 

"  Right  about  face,  Sam !  "  says  the  fugleman. 
"  Forrud  march,  Hendrecus  Canady !  He  looks 
peaked,  Major.  His  father  's  a  root  and  Injun 
doctor,  and  he  never  had  much  but  pills  to  eat, 
until  he  ran  off  and  joined  the  army.  But  I 
stump  the  whole  Thirteen  to  show  me  a  wirier 
boy,  or  a  longer  head.  He  '11  be  in  Congress  be- 
fore he  says  '  Die '  through  that  nose  of  his'n." 

Heiidrecus  Canady  in  turn  toed  the  mark  foi 


EDWIN   BROTIIEKTOFT.  185 

inspection.  He  had  a  sallow,  potticary  face.  A 
meagre  yellow  down  on  his  cheeks  grew  to  a 
point  at  his  chin.  But  he  is  neatly  dressed  in 
half-uniform.  He  has  a  keen  look,  which  will 
say,  "  Stand  and  deliver  your  fact ! "  to  every 
phenomenon.  He  will,  indeed,  talk  through  his 
nose,  until  his  spirit  passes  by  that  exit  to  climes 
where  there  are  no  noses  to  twang  by.  But  wiry 
men  must  be  had  when  states  need  bracing. 
And  the  root-doctor's  runaway  son  was  M.  C. 
long  before  his  beak  intoned  his  Nunc  dimittis. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Skerrett,  "  I  like  your  looks, 
and  I  like  what  Captain  Jierck  says  of  you.  You 
know  what  we  've  got  to  do,  and  know  it  must 
be  done.  You  '11  travel,  scattering,  according  to 
Jierck's  orders,  and  rendezvous  before  moon-rise 
at  his  father's  barn  on  the  Manor.  Sergeant 
Lincoln  goes  with  me.  Jierck  will  name  a  place 
where  he  '11  meet  me  at  sunrise.  We  shall  have 
all  day  to-morrow  to  see  how  the  land  lies,  and 
the  night  to  do  our  job  in.  Now,  then,  shako 
hands  round,  and  go  ahead ! " 


PART    III. 


I. 


FOR  the  first  time  in  her  life  Lucy  Brothertoft 
failed  to  kiss  her  mother  on  the  morning  of  the 
dinner  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton. 

A  great  pang  went  to  the  guilty  woman's 
heart. 

She  perceived  that  her  daughter  knew  her  at 
last. 

Ah,  miserable  woman !  She  did  not  dare  turn 
her  great  black  eyes  reproachfully  upon  Lucy, 
and  demand  the  omitted  caress. 

She  did  not  dare  say  tenderly,  "  What,  my 
daughter,  are  you  forgetting  me  ?  " 

She  did  not  dare  go  forward  and  press  her 
own  unworthy  lips  to  those  virgin  lips. 

For  one  instant  a  great  tumult  of  love  and 
remorse  stirred  within  her.  She  longed  to  fling 
herself  on  her  knees  before  her  daughter,  to 
bury  her  face  in  Lucy's  lap,  and  there,  with 
tears  and  agony,  cry  out :  — 

"  0  my  child  !  pity  me,  do  not  hate  me,  for 
the  lie  I  have  been.  Ah  !  you  do  not  know  the 
misery  of  wearing  an  undetected  falsehood  in 


190  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

the  heart!  You  do  not  know  the  torture  of 
hypocrisy.  You  do  not  know  how  miserably 
base  it  is  to  be  loved  for  what  you  are  not, — 
to  be  trusted  as  a  true  and  loyal  heart,  when 
every  moment  of  such  false  pretence  is  another 
film  of  falsehood  over  the  deep-seated  lie.  You 
cannot  know  how  we  tacit  liars  long  for  be- 
trayal, while  we  shrink  and  shudder  when  it 
approaches ! 

"  And  you,  my  gentle  daughter,  have  been  my 
vengeance.  Listen  to  me  now!  The  old  pride 
breaks.  The  old  horror  passes.  I  confess.  Be- 
fore you,  the  very  image  of  my  husband  in  his 
young  and  hopeful  days,  I  confess  my  shameful 
sin.  1  have  been  a  foul  wife  and  a  false  mother. 
Do  not  scorn  me,  Lucy.  I  have  suffered,  and 
shall  suffer  till  I  die. 

"  Ah !  thank  Heaven,  my  child,  that  you  do 
not  feel  and  cannot  divine  half  my  degradation. 
My  agony  you  see,  —  let  it  be  the  lesson  of  your 
life !  Here  I  hide  my  face,  and  dare  to  recall 
that  brave  and  noble  lover,  your  father.  So 
gentle  he  was,  so  tender,  so  utterly  trustful! 
And  I  was  mean  enough  to  think  he  triumphed 
over  me  because  his  soul  was  fine,  and  mine  was 
coarse.  So  I  took  my  coarse  revenge. 

"  0  fool,  fool !  that  I  could  not  comprehend 
that  pure  and  lofty  nature.  0  base !  that  I 
must  grovel  and  rank  myself  with  the  base.  0 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  191 

cruel .'  that  T  must  trample  upon  him,  0  das- 
tardly !  for  the  unwomanly  sneers,  for  the  stud- 
ied insults,  by  which  I  bore  him  down,  and  broke 
at  last  that  high,  chivalric  heart.  It  seems  to 
me  that  I  was  not  sane,  but  mad  all  those  misera- 
ble years. 

"  But  now,  my  daughter,  see  me  weep !  I 
repent.  My  soul  repents  and  loathes  this  guilty 
woman  here.  I  have  spoken,  I  have  told  you 
fully  what  I  am.  I  look  up.  I  see  your  father's 
patient,  pitying  glance  upon  your  face.  Speak, 
with  his  voice,  and  say  I  may  be  slowly  pardoned, 
if  my  penitence  endures.  And  kiss  me,  Lucy ! 
not  my  tainted  lips ;  but  kiss  my  forehead  with 
a  kiss  of  peace !  " 

Such  a  wild  agony  of  love  and  remorse  stirred 
within  this  wretched  woman's  heart. 

But  she  battled  it  down,  down,  down. 

The  virago  in  her  struck  the  woman  to  the 
earth,  and  throttled  her.  No  yielding.  No 
tears.  No  repentance.  She  scorned  the  medi- 
cine of  shame. 

Lucy's  presence  cowed  her.  She  did  not 
dare  look  at  that  gentle,  earnest  face,  except 
covertly,  and  as  an  assassin  looks. 

The  Furies,  her  old  companions,  thickened 
about  her,  like  a  mist  pregnant  with  forms. 
There  was  a  whispering  in  the  air.  Did  others 
see  those  shadowy  images?  Did  others  hear 


192  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

their  words?  To  her  they  were  loud  and 
emphatic.  "  Stab  the  meek-faced  girl !  Be  rid 
of  this  spy !  Shall  she  sit  there  and  shame 
you?"  —  so  the  Furies  whispered  and  shouted. 
And  the  woman  replied  within  herself :  "  Am 
I  not  stabbing  her?  See,  here  is  my  hired 
bravo,  my  future  son-in-law,  the  very  Honor- 
able Major  Kerr,  —  le  del  homme  !  He  will  give 
the  puny  thing  troubles  of  her  own  to  mind. 
We  will  see  whether  she  is  always  to  stay  so 
meek  and  patient.  We  will  see  whether  these 
Brothertofts  are  so  much  better  than  other 
people.  She  has  learnt  to  suspect  me  at  last. 
I  knew  the  time  would  come,  and  I  have  made 
ready  for  it.  Day  after  to-morrow  they  are  to 
be  married,  and  then  I  shall  be  rid  of  Miss 
Monitress." 

With  such  passions  at  work,  breakfast  at 
Brothertoft,  on  the  morning  of  Putnam's  Coun- 
cil, and  the  dinner  to  Clinton,  was  not  a  very 
cheerful  meal.  Mother  and  daughter  were  silent. 
Kerr  took  his  cue,  and  played  knife  and  fork. 


II. 


LUCY  left  the  room  immediately  after  break- 
fast. 

"My  pretty  Lucy  seems  to  have  the  megrims,'* 
said  Major  Kerr.  "  Is  that  on  the  cards  for  a 
blushing  bride  ?  " 

"  She  sighs  for  the  hour  when  Adonis  shall 
name  her  his,"  replied  the  mother,  with  a  half- 
sneer. 

"  Confound  it,  Madam !  I  believe  you  are 
laughing  at  me,"  the  blowsy  Adonis  grumbled. 

He  lifted  himself  from  the  table,  and  swaggered 
off  to  the  fire,  with  a  gorged  movement.  He 
probably  had  never  seen  a  turkey-buzzard  loun- 
ging away  from  carrion  ;  but  he  unconsciously 
imitated  that  unattractive  fowl. 

The  debris  of  his  meal,  the  husks  of  what  he 
did  eat,  remained  in  an  unpleasant  huddle  on 
the  table,  proving  that  a  great,  gross  feeder  had 
been  there. 

He  stood  before  the  fire,  a  big  red  object,  the 
type  of  many  Englishmen  who  were  sent  over  in 
the  Revolution  to  disenchant  us  with  monarchy. 

0  M 


194  EDWIN  BROTHEBTOFT. 

The  chances  are  nearly  ten  to  one  in  favor  of 
an  Englishman's  being  a  gentleman.  Our  moth- 
er country  seemed  to  have  carefully  decimated 
her  civil  and  military  service  of  its  brutes,  to  do 
the  dirty  work  of  flogging  the  Continentals. 

Kerr  stood  before  the  lire,  making  a  picture  of 
himself. 

A  handsomish  animal !  Other  women  might 
call  him  le  bel  homme  without  Mrs.  Brother- 
toft's  tone  of  contempt.  He  had  evidently  giv- 
en the  artists  of  the  alcoholic  school  —  Brandy 
and  that  brotherhood  —  frequent  sittings.  They 
paint  rubicund,  and  had  not  been  chary  of  car- 
nations in  his  pase.  His  red  uniform-jacket 
gave  him  the  air  of  an  overgrown  boy.  But  not 
a  frank,  merry  one ;  nor  even  an  oafish,  well- 
meaning  dolt  of  a  chap.  This  great  boy  is  a 
bully.  Smaller  urchins  would  suffer  under  his 
thumb.  He  would  crush  a  butterfly,  or,  indeed, 
anything  gentle  and  tender,  without  much  cere- 
mony. 

So  Mrs.  Brothertoft  seemed  to  think,  as  she 
surveyed  him,  posed  there  for  inspection. 

She  smiled  to  herself,  and  thought,  "  This 
sensual  tyrant  will  presently  give  Miss  Lucy 
something  else  to  do  than  insult  me  with  her 
prudish  airs." 

"  Dash  it,  Ma'am !  "  Kerr  repeated,  —  his  caste, 
in  his  time,  dashed  freely,  — "  do  you  mean  to 
hint  the  girl  is  not  fond  of  me  ?  " 


EDWIN   BRQTHERTOFT.  195 

"  Fond  !  she  adores  you.  See  how  jealous  she 
is  !  She  cannot  leave  you  one  moment." 

"  I  'd  have  you  to  know,  Madam,  with  your 
sneers,  that  better  blood  than  your  daughter 
have  been  fond  of  me." 

"  Why  did  n't  Adonis  stay  in  the  home  market, 
then,  instead  of  putting  himself  in  the  Provin- 
cial?" 

"  You  know  why !  I  don't  make  any  secret 
of  my  debts  and  my  peccadillos.  You  know  as 
much  about  me  as  I  do  about  you,  my  mother- 
in-law." 

She  winced  a  little  at  this  coarse  familiarity. 
It  was  part  of  her  inevitable  punishment  to  be  so 
treated.  Ah  !  how  bitterly  she  remembered,  at 
such  words,  the  reverent  courtesy  of  her  hus- 
band !  how  bitterly,  his  pitying  tenderness,  even 
when  she  had  dishonored  him,  so  far  as  his  honor 
was  in  her  power !  But  she  hardened  herself 
against  these  memories,  and  her  vindictiveness 
against  that  daughter  of  his  grew  more  cruel. 

"  You  must  allow,"  continued  Kerr,  "  that 
you  get  me  dem  cheap." 

"  Cheap  !  "  she  rejoined.  "  Cheap  with  the 
debts  and  the  peccadillos  !  Cheap,  white  feather 
and  all ! " 

"  Who  says  I  ever  showed  the  white  feather  ?  " 
roared  Kerr.  "  That 's  one  of  that  muscadin, 
Jack  Andre's  lies.  He  wants  my  place  as  Adju- 


196  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

taut  to  Sir  Henry.  Bah !  the  shop-keeping,  play- 
acting, rhyme-writing  milksop  !  he  'd  better  keep 
his  Swiss  jaws  shut,  and  not  slander  a  British 
nobleman  !  " 

"  Nobleman  !  "  says  his  hostess,  evidently  tak- 
ing pleasure  in  galling  her  conspirator ;  "  I 
thought  you  were  only  a  peer's  third  son." 

"  There  are  but  three  lives  between  me  and 
the  earldom,  —  an  old  gouty  life,  Tom's  jockey 
life,  and  Dick's  drunken  one.  Your  daughter 
will  be  Countess  of  Bendigh  one  of  these  days, 
and  you  'd  both  better  be  careful  how  you  treat 
me." 

"  How  could  I  treat  you  better  ?  "  I  give  you 
the  prettiest  girl  in  the  Province,  with  the  pret- 
tiest portion." 

"  Have  I  got  to  tell  you  again,  that  not  every 
man  would  take  your  daughter  ?  You  need  n't 
look  so  fierce  about  it." 

She  did  look  fierce.  She  looked  —  la  belle 
sauvage  —  as  if  she  could  handle  a  scalping-knife. 
And  no  wonder !  This  was  not  very  pretty 
talk  on  either  side. 

It  was  not  very  pretty  work  they  had  plotted. 
Hate  must  have  become  very  bitter  in  the  moth- 
er's heart  before  she  chose  this  brute  and  booby 
for  her  daughter's  husband.  She  did  not  even 
perceive  the  dull  spark  of  a  better  nature,  not 
utterly  quenched  in  him, — gross,  dissolute,  over- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  197 

bearing,  heavy,  that  he  was.  She  wished  to  be 
rid  of  Lucy  Brothertoft,  —  this  was  the  first 
thing.  If,  besides,  she  got  ail  ally  on  the  royalist 
side,  and  a  son-in-law  who  could  help  her  to  a 
place  in  society  in  England,  it  was  clear  gain. 

But  enough  of  this  conspiracy  ! 

Will  the  father  and  that  young  rebel  sans 
moustache  be  bold  and  speedy  enough  to  de- 
feat it  ? 


III. 

PLACE  aux  hSros  ! 

To-day  the  lady  of  Brothertoft  Manor  dines 
Sir  Henry  Clinton  and  suite. 

If  General  Putnam  should  ever  march  back, 
and  blame  her  that  she  gave  aid  and  comfort 
to  the  enemy,  she  will  say  that  she  was  forced 
to  protect  herself  by  a  little  sham  hospitality. 

It  may  be  sham,  but  it  is  liberal.  Sappho 
contributes  her  most  faithful  soup.  The  river 
gives  a  noble  sturgeon,  —  and  "  Albany  beef," 
treated  as  turbot,  with  sauce  blanche,  is  fish 
for  anybody's  fork.  The  brooks  supply  trouts 
by  the  bushel.  The  Highlands  have  provided 
special  venison  for  this  festival.  The  Manor  kills 
its  fatted  calf,  its  sweetest  mutton,  its  spright- 
liest  young  turkey,  fed  on  honeydew  grasshop- 
pers. There  is  a  plum-pudding  big  as  a  pumpkin. 
Alas  that  no  patriot  palate  will  vibrate  to  the 
passing  love-taps  of  these  substantial  good  things ! 

All  is  ready,  and  Lady  Brothertoft  —  so  she 
loves  to  be  called  —  awaits  her  distinguished 
guests,  in  her  grandest  attire. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  199 

But,  calm  and  stately  as  she  sits,  there  is  now 
miserable  panic  and  now  cruel  hate  in  her  heart ; 
for  all  the  time  she  is  whispering  to  herself. 

"  Lucy  did  not  kiss  me.  It  is  the  first  time 
in  all  her  life.  Edwin  Brothertoft's  daughter 
has  discovered  at  last  what  I  am.  Did  he  come 
in  a  dream  and  tell  her  ?  " 

Theii  she  would  raise  her  eyes  as  far  as  those 
Tair  hands  lying  in  her  daughter's  lap,  —  no 
Iiigher,  no  higher,  or  the  daughter  would  face 
her,  —  and  think  of  the  wedding-ring  that  her 
ptot  is  presently  to  force  upon  one  of  those 
locked  fingers.  She  could  hardly  keep  back  a 
scream  of  wild  triumph  at  the  thought. 

So  the  mother  sits,  and  holds  her  peace,  such 
as  it  is.  The  daughter  waits,  in  a  strange  dream 
of  patience.  Major  Kerr  swaggers  about,  admires 
nis  legs,  feels  embarrassed  before  his  mute  be- 
trothed, looks  at  his  watch  and  grumbles,  "  It  's 
naif  past  two.  Dinner  's  three,  sharp.  The 
soup  will  be  spoiled  if  they  don't  show  pres- 
ently." 

They  begin  to  show  now  upon  the  quarter- 
decks of  the  three  frigates  in  the  river.  The 
guests,  in  full  bloom  of  scarlet  and  gold,  come 
up  from  cabin  and  ward-room  of  the  Tartar,  the 
tVusto^,  and  the  Mercury.  Jack  on  the  fore- 
castle has  his  joke,  as  each  new  figure  struts 
«^rtK  tiodging  whatever  would  stain  or  flavor 


200  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

him  tarry.  The  belated  men  call  to  their  ser- 
vants, "  Bear  a  hand  there,  you  lubber,  with 
the  flour  for  my  hair-powder!  How  the  devil 
did  that  spot  come  on  my  coat-sleeve  !  Why  the 
devil  did  n't  you  have  these  ruffles  starched  ?  " 

The  last  man  now  struggles  into  his  .tightest 
Hessians.  The  last  man  draws  on  his  silk  stock- 
ings. The  last  mans  his  pumps.  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  comes  out  with  Commodore  Hotham. 
The  captain's  gig  has  been  swinging  half  an 
hour  in  the  shade  of  the  frigate's  hull.  Pre- 
sent arms,  sentry  at  the  gangway!  Here  they 
come,  down  the  black  side  of  the  ship.  Fire 
and  feathers,  how  splendid !  Take  care  of  your 
sword,  Sir  Henry,  or  you  '11  trip  and  get  a 
ducking  instead  of  a  dinner !  They  scuttle  into 
the  stern-sheets.  The  oarsmen,  in  their  neatest 
holiday  rig,  scoff  in  their  hearts,  and  name 
these  great*  personages  "  lobsters  "  and  "  land- 
lubbers." The  captain's  coxswain,  the  prettiest 
man  of  the  whole  ship's  company,  gives  the 
word,  "  Shove  off!  "  Boat-hook  shoves,  Jack  on 
deck  peers  through  the  port-holes.  A  topman, 
aloft,  accidentally  drops  a  tarry  bit  of  spunyarn 
and  hits  Sir  Henry  on  his  biggish  nose.  "  Back 
starboard,"  the  pretty  coxswain  orders.  "  Pull 
port !  "  "  Give  way  all !  "  And  so  we  go  to 
dinner!  And  so  from  men-of-war  in  our  time 
heroes  go  to  dinners  ashore. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT  201 

And  now  the   gay  party   enters  the   dining- 
room  at  Brothertoft  Manor. 

How  bright  the  sunbeams  of  the  October  after- 
noon, ricoehetting  from  the  smooth  Hudson  into 
the  windows,  gleam  on  the  epaulets  and  but- 
tons of  a  dozen  gorgeous  officers!  One  special 
ray  is  clearly  detailed  to  signalize  that  star  on 
Sir  Henry  Clinton's  left  breast.  The  room  is 
aflame  with  scarlet.  Certainly  these  flamboyant 
heroes  will  presently  consume  away  every  ves- 
tige of  a  rebel  army.  Surely,  after  a  parry  or 
two  against  these  dress  swords,  the  champions 
of  freedom  will  drop  their  points  and  yield  their 
necks  to  the  halter.  Each  elaborate  fine  gen- 
tleman, too,  of  all  this  bandboxy  company,  is 
crowned  with  victor  bays.  They  plucked  them 
only  t'  other  day  across  the  river  on  the  ram- 
parts of  Forts  Clinton  and  Montgomery.  When 
Jack  Burgoyne  sends  down  his  bunch  of  laurel 
from  Saratoga,  the  whole  are  to  be  tied  up  in 
one  big  bouquet,  and  despatched  to  tickle  the 
nose  and  the  heart  of  Farmer  George  at  Wind- 
sor Castle. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton  —  no  less — Ctzsar  ipse  — 
hands  in  the  grand  hostess,  and  takes  his  seat 
at  her  right.  How  jolly  he  looks,  the  fat  little 
man  !  How  his  round  face  shines,  and  his  pro- 
tuberant nose  begins  to  glow  with  inhaling  the 
steam  of  the  feast ! 

9* 


202  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  I  must  have  you  on  my  left,  Admiral,"  says 
the  hostess,  to  a  hearty  gentleman  in  naval  uni- 
form, 

"  Thank  you  for  my  promotion,  Madam,"  re- 
joins Commodore  Hotham,  dropping  into  his 
place. 

At  the  head  of  her  table,  then,  sits  Lady 
Brothertoft,  proud  and  handsome,  flanked  by 
the  two  chiefs.  And  down  on  either  side  the 
guests  dispose  themselves  in  belaurelled  vista. 

Major  Kerr  takes  the  foot  of  the  table.  He 
carves  well  for  everybody,  and  best  for  himself. 
Two  spoonsful  of  sauce  blanche  float  his  choice 
portion  of  the  Albany  beef.  The  liver  of  the 
turkey  he  accepts  as  carver's  perquisites.  And 
when  he  comes  to  cut  the  saddle  of  venison, 
plenty  of  delicate  little  scraps,  quite  too  small  to 
offer  to  others,  find  their  way  to  his  plate. 

Lucy  is  at  his  right.  "What  ?  in  high  spirits  ? 
in  gay  colors  ?  Has  she  so  soon  become  a  hypo- 
crite and  conspiratress  ?  Why,  the  little  dissem- 
bler laughs  merrily,  and  flirts  audaciously  ! 
Laughs  merrily !  Ah !  there  are  bitter  tears 
just  beneath  that  laugh  !  If  you  call  toler- 
ating compliments  from  that  young  Captain  at 
her  right  flirting,  then  she  is  flirting,  and  so  con- 
ceals her  disgust  of  her  betrothed. 

And  who  is  that  young  Captain  ?  He  stole 
into  the  chair  at  Lucy's  right,  and  began  to  talk 


EDWTN   B^rHEBTOFT.  203 

J)ofore  lie  nad  had  his  soup.  Who  is 
this  fine  .,,-entleman  of  twenty-six,  with  the  oval 
face,  the  regular  features,  the  slightly  supercil- 
ious mouth,  the  dimpled  chin,  the  hair  so  care- 
fully powdered  and  queued  ?  Who  is  this  ele- 
gant petit  maitre  ?  With  what  studied  gesture 
ho  airs  his  ruffles  !  How  fluently  he  rattles ! 
How  easily  he  improvises  jingle  !  He  quotes 
French,  as  if  it  were  his  mother-tongue.  He 
smiles  and  sighs  like  an  accomplished  lady-killer. 
Who  is  he  ? 

Major  Emerick,  of  the  Hessian  Chasseurs, 
looks  across  the  table  at  this  gay  rattle,  and  then 
whispers  to  his  own  neighbor,  Lord  Rawdon, 
"  Zee  dat  dab  maggaroni,  Chack  Antr6  ;  how 
he  bake  lubb  co  de  breddy  Lucie !  Bajor  Gurr 
will  bide  off  his  'ead  breddy  sood." 

"  Kerr  may  glower  and  look  like  a  cannibal," 
Rawdon  returned,  in  a  whisper,  "  but  he  will 
not  cat  Jack  Andr6's  head  so  long  as  there's 
any  of  that  venison  left." 

"  I  dinked  Chack  was  id  Bedsylvadia  or  Cher- 
zey,"  says  Emerick,  wiping  that  enormous  mous- 
tache of  his,  —  a  coarso.  Hessian  article,  planted 
like  a  bushy  abattis  before  his  mouth. 

"  He  was,"  replied  Rawdon,  "  and  I  don't  see 
how  he  has  been  able  to  get  here  so  soony  unless 
that  is  his  eidolon,  his  wraith,  and  moves  like  the 
ghost  in  Hamlet.  I  suppose  he  heard  that  Kerr 


204  EDWIN  BROTIIERTOFT. 

was  going  to  marry  the  heiress,  and  there  would 
he  an  Adjutancy  looking  for  an  Adjutant,  and  has 
posted  up  to  offer  himself.  He  did  n't  know  1 
was  to  have  it.  Jack  is  in  too  much  hurry  to 
be  a  great  man.  His  vanity  will  get  him  into  a 
scrape  some  of  these  days." 

So  this  sentimental  Captain  is  Jack  Andre*. 
A  pretty  face  ;  but  there  is  gallows  in  it.  A 
pretty  laced  cravat ;  but  the  tie  has  slipped 
ominously  round  under  the  left  ear.  Ah  !  Jack, 
Rawdon  is  right ;  thy  vanity  will  be  the  death  of 
thee.  Suppose  thou  hast  been  jilted  by  the 
pretty  Mrs.  R.  L.  Edgeworth,  nee  Sneyd,  do  not 
be  over  hasty  to  gain  name  and  fame,  that  she 
may  be  sorry  she  loved  the  respectable  Richard, 
and  not  thee,  flippant  Jack.  Sink  thy  shop- 
keeping  days ;  nobody  remembers  them  against 
thee.  Do  not  try  by  unsoldierly  tricks  of  brib- 
ery and  treachery,  and  a  correspondence  after 
the  bagman  model,  to  get  for  thyself  the  rank  of 
Brigadier  and  the  title  Sir  John.  And,  Jack, 
take  warning  that  the  latitude  of  Brothertoft 
Manor  is  unhealthy  for  thee  in  the  autumn. 
Never  come  here  again,  or  thy  bootjack  will 
draw  thy  boots  and  find  death  in  them  !  Swing- 
ing by  the  neck  is  a  sorry  exit  for  a  petit  maitre, 
and  it  must  be  annoying  to  know  that,  in  punish- 
ment for  a  single  shabby  act,  one's  fame  is  stand* 
ing  forever  in  the  pillory  in  Westminster  Abbey. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  205 

Captain  Andre*  whispered  soft  nothings  to  Lucy. 
And  though  Kerr  glowered  truculently,  she  lis- 
tened, much  to  the  amusement  of  Emerick  and 
Rawdon.  Lucky,  perhaps,  for  the  daughter,  that 
mauima,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  did  not  detect 
this  by-play!  She  might  have  scented  revolt, 
and  hastened  the  marriage.  An  hour  would 
have  brought  the  Tartar's  chaplain ;  five  minutes 
would  have  clothed  him  in  his  limp  surplice,  and 
in  five  more,  Lucy,  still  quelled  by  the  old  tyran- 
ny, would  have  stammered,  "  love,  honor,  and 
obey,"  —  and  "  die." 

She  was  not  always  very  attentive  to  her  but- 
terfly companion. 

Sometimes  she  bent  forward,  and  looked  at  her 
mother,  sitting  in  all  her  glory  between  Army 
and  Navy,  and  the  daughter's  cheeks  burned 
with  shame.  She  longed  to  fly  away  from  all 
this  splendor,  somewhither  where  she  could  dwell 
innocently  and  weep  away  the  infinite  sorrow  in 
her  gentle  heart.  If  she  had  not  been  too  be- 
wildered by  her  throng  of  battling  hopes  and 
fears  within,  by  the  clatter  of  the  feast,  and  Jack 
Andre's  mischianza  of  gossip  and  compliment, 
her  notions  of  right  and  wrong,  of  crime  and 
punishment,  would  have  become  sadly  confused. 

Questions  did  indeed  drift  across  her  mind, — 
"How  can  she  sit  there  so  proud  and  hand- 
some ?  How  can  she  be  so  calm  and  hard  ? 


206  EDWIX   BROTHEKTOFT. 

How  can  she  bear  the  brunt  of  all  these  eyes, 
and  lead  the  talk  so  vigorously?  She  wields 
and  manages  every  one  about  her.  They  ap- 
plaud her  wit.  They  listen  to  her  suggestions. 
She  seems  to  comprehend  these  political  mat- 
ters better  than  any  of  them.  Hear  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  '  Madam,  if  you  were  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, these  rebel  Colonies  would  soon  be  taught 
subjection.'  It  is  half  compliment  of  guest  to 
hostess ;  but  more  than  half  truth.  For  she  is 
an  imperious,  potent  woman.  And  has  evil  in  her 
soul  given  her  this  power  and  this  knowledge  ? 
Must  women  sin  to  be  strong?  How  can  she 
sit  there,  knowing  what  she  knows  of  herself, 
knowing  what  is  known  of  her?  She  seems  to 
triumph.  Triumph  !  alas  !  why  is  she  not  away 
in  silence  and  solitude,  with  a  veil  over  her 
bad  beauty,  praying  to  God  to  forgive  her  for 
the  harm  she  lias  done,  and  for  the  sin  she  is  ? 
I,  such  hypocrisy  possible  ?  Or  am  I  deceived  ? 
May  not  she  perhaps,  perhaps,  be  worthy  ?  May 
she  not  be  wise1  and  good  ?  Is  it  not  I  who 
am  the  hypocrite  ?  May  she  not  mean  kindly 
in  providing  me  a  man  of  rank  and  power  as  a 
protector  in  these  rude  times  ?  Are  not  my  sus- 
picions the  ignorance  of  a  child,  —  my  plots  the 
wicked  struggles  of  a  rebellious  heart  against 
duty  ?  0  God,  pity  and  guide  rne !  " 

Lucy  felt  tears  starting  to  her  eye£  at  these 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  207 

new  and  cruel  thoughts,  and  forced  herself  again 
to  listen  to  Jack  Andrews  small-talk. 

Jack  was  telling  a  clever  story  of  a  raid  he 
and  some  brother  officers  had  made  from  New 
York  on  the  poultry-yards  of  Staten  Island. 
An  old  lady  with  a  broomstick  had  endeavored 
to  defend  the  Clove  Road  against  these  ttirkey- 
snatchers,  and  he  gave  her  drawl  to  the  life. 
"Then,"  says  Jack,  "out  came  Captain  Ram- 
bullct,  with  the  rusty  matchlock  of  Rambouillet 
his  Huguenot  ancestor,  and  interposed  a  smell  of 
cornstalk  whiskey  between  us  and  liis  hen-roost." 
This  scene,  too,  Jack  gave  with  twang  and 
drawl  to  the  life,  amid  roars  of  laughter,  and 
cries  of  "  Coot !  coot !  "  fro1  in  Major  Enierick. 

Lucy  did  not  laugh.  She  liad  all  at  once 
discovered  that  her  sympathies  were  with  these 
rebels,  nasal  twang  and  all.  "  My  father  is  one 
of  them,"  she  thought.  "  If  I  am  to  be  saved 
from  marrying  this  coarse  glutton,  it  must  be 
by  a  rebel.  Putnam  and  his  officers  were  not 
so  showy  as  these  men;  but  they  seemed  more 
ifl  earnest." 

I  do  not  succeed  in  entertaining  you,  fair 
lady,"  says  Andre",  sotto  voce.  "  Yottr  thoughts 
are  all  for  that  happy  fellow  beside  you,"  —  and 
he  looked  witli  a  little  sneer  towards  Kerr,  who 
was  applying  to  Bottle  for  the  boon  of  wit. 

A   feeling   of  utter   despair   came   over  poor 


208  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Lucy,  as  she  turned  involuntarily,  and  also 
glanced  at  the  animal.  Then  she  drew  away 
indignantly  from  the  man  who  had  put  this 
little  stab  into  her  heart. 

"  Are  there  no  gentlemen  in  the  world  ?  "  sho 
thought.  "  Do  men  dare  to  speak  so  and  look 
so  at  other  young  ladies  ?  " 

"  Loog  ad  de  breddy  Meess,"  says  Emerick, 
holding  a  wine-glass  before  his  bushy  abattis, 
as  a  cover.  "  Zhe  is  nod  habbie  wid  Chack, 
nor  wid  Gurr ! " 

"  A  dozen  fellows,"  Rawdon  rejoined,  behind 
his  glass,  "  of  better  blood  than  Jack,  and  better 
hearts  than  Kerr,  would  have  cut  in  there  long 
ago.  The  daughter  is  as  sweet  and  pure  as 
a  lily.  But  who  dares  marry  such  a  mother- 
in-law  ?  "  —  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  ex- 
pressively toward  the  hostess. 

Do  we  talk  so  at  dinner-tables  in  1860?  eh, 
nous  autres? 

The  hostess  now  rose,  and  beckoned  her  daugh- 
ter. 

"  I  leave  you,  gentlemen,  to  your  toasts,"  she 
said.  "  Major  Kerr  will  be  my  representative." 

She  moved  to  the  door.  Army  and  Navy, 
Albion  and  Hesse,  all  sprang  to  open  for  her. 
A  murmur  of  admiration  for  her  beauty  and 
bearing  applauded  the  exit.  Lady  Brothertoft 
seemed  to  be  at  her  climax. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  209 

Kerr  of  course  did  not  let  the  toasts  lag. 

"  The  King,  gentlemen ! " 

Cheers !    Drank  cyathis  plenis. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton  rises,  gleaming  star,  red 
nose,  and  all,  and  proposes,  "  Our  hostess ! " 
Bumpers  and  uproar! 

Then  they  load  and  fire,  fast  and  furious. 
Bottle  can  hardly  gallop  fast  enough  to  supply 
ammunition. 

"  The  Army  !  "  "  Hooray,  hooray  !  Speech 
from  Lord  Rawdon !  " 

"  The  Navy !  "  "  Three  cheers  for  Commo- 
dore Hotham ! " 

"  The  captured  forts !  "  Drank  in  silence  to 
the  memory  of  Colonel  Campbell  and  Count 
Grabowski,  killed  there. 

"  Luck  to  Jack  Burgoyne ! "  "  Pouting  Jack," 
Andrd  suggests.  "  May  he  be  a  spiler  to 
Schuyler,  and  fling  Gates  over  the  hedge  into 
the  ditch ! "  Laughter  and  cheers,  and  im- 
mense rattling  of  glasses  on  the  table. 

"  Here  's  to  General  Vaughan  and  his  trip 
up  the  river  to-morrow !  May  he  add  a  moral 
to  the  Esopus  fables !  " 

"  The  Brandywine !  and  here  's  hoping  Mr. 
Washington  may  have  another  taste  of  the 
same  cup ! " 

Are  modern  toasts  and  dinner-table  wit  of  this 
same  calibre  ? 


210 


Kerr  rose  and  endeavored  to  offer  the  famous 
sentiment  known  as  The  Four  Rules  of  Arith- 
metic. He  was  muddled  by  this  time,  and  the 
toast  got  itself  transposed.  He  gravely  pro- 
posed, in  a  thick  voice,  and  in  words  with  110 
syllables,  —  "Addition  to  the  Whigs!  Subtrac- 
tion to  the  Tories !  Multiplication  to  the  King's 
foes !  Division  to  his  friends !  "  And  added 
Kerr,  out  of  his  own  head,  — "  Cuffush'n  t' 
ev'ryborry ! " 

Ironical  cheers  from  Jack  Andre".  Where- 
upon good-natured  Ernerick,  to  cover  the  gen- 
eral serio-comic  dismay,  rose  and  said,  —  "  Shet- 
tlemen,  I  kiv  Bajor  Gurr  and  his  breddy  bride." 
Double  bumpers.  Hoorayryrayryray !  Rattle 
everybody,  with  glasses,  forks,  and  nut-crackers. 
One  enthusiast  flung  his  glass  over  his  head,  and 
then  blundered  out  a  call  for  Captain  Andre's 
song,  "  The  Lover's  Lament."  Lord  Rawdon 
was  the  only  one  to  perceive  the  bad  omen. 

So  Jack,  without  more  solicitation,  began,  in  a 
pretty  voice,  — 

"  Return,  enraptured  hours, 
When  Delia's  heart  was  mine,"  — 

and  so  on  through  a  dozen  stanzas  of  Strephon 
ics,  —  a  most  moving  ditty,  the  words  and  music 
his  own. 

Everybody  felt  a  little  maudlin  when  this  Jack 
of  all  airs  and  graces  closed  his  lay  with  a  dulcet 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  211 

quaver.  There  was  a  momentary  pause  in  the 
revel. 

In  such  pauses  young  gentlemen  who  love 
flirtation  more  than  potation  dodge  off  and  join 
the  ladies. 

Let  us  follow  this  good  example.  A  revel, 
with  Major  Kerr  for  its  master,  may  easily  grow 
to  an  orgie ;  and  meanwhile  the  mother  and 
daughter  are  sitting  in  the  parlor  alone 


IV. 

THE  sun  of  October  had  gone  down  below  tho 
golden  forests  on  the  golden  hills.  It  was  dusk, 
and  the  two  ladies  sat  in  the  parlor,  dimly  lit  by 
a  glimmering  fire. 

They  were  alone ;  unless  the  spirit  of  the  first 
Edwin  Brothertoft  was  looking  at  them  from 
Vandyck's  portrait  on  the  wall. 

That  wonderful  picture  hung  in  its  old  place. 
More  than  a  century,  now,  it  had  been  silently 
watching  the  fortunes  of  the  family. 

No  Provincial  daubs  had  ventured  within  sight 
of  this  masterpiece.  Each  successive  Brothertoft 
was  always  proud  to  know  that  his  face,  at  its 
best,  was  his  ancestor's  repeated.  Each  de- 
scendant said,  "  Vandyck  painted  us,  once  for 
all,  in  the  person  of  our  forefather.  When  there 
is  another  Colonel  Brothertoft,  or  a  second  Van- 
dyck,  it  will  be  time  to  give  the  picture  a  com- 
panion." 

So  one  perfect  work  had  vetoed  a  whole  gal- 
lery of  wooden  visages. 

The  present  Mrs.  Brothertoft  had  always  dis- 


EDWIN   BROTHEETOFT.  218 

liked  the  picture.  She  had  used  it  as  a  pre- 
text for  first  summoning  her  husband  to  her 
side.  When  she  brought  shame  into  the  house, 
she  began  to  dread  its  tacit  reproach.  The  eyes 
of  the  Colonel,  sad  and  stern,  seemed  forever  to 
follow  her.  His  wife's  gentle  face  grew  mer- 
ciless. Even  the  innocent  child  on  the  canvas 
read  her  secret  heart. 

By  and  by,  to  escape  this  inspection,  she  had 
the  portrait  covered  with  a  crimson  silk  curtain. 

"  A  Vandyck,"  she  said,  "  is  too  rare  and  too 
precious  to  be  given  up  to  flies." 

For  many  years  the  ancestors  had  been  left  to 
blush  behind  a  screen  of  crimson  silk. 

To-day,  before  dinner,  her  guests  had  asked  to 
see  this  famous  work  of  the  famous  master. 

No  one  could  detect  the  tremor  in  her  heart  at 
this  request.  No  one  could  see  how  white  her 
face  grew  as  she  fumbled  with  the  cords,  nor 
how  suddenly  scarlet  as  she  drew  aside  the  cur- 
tain. 

Every  one  exclaimed  in  genuine  or  conven- 
tional admiration. 

The  picture  represented  that  meeting  at  Old 
Brothertoft  Manor,  after  the  battle  of  Horn- 
castle,  in  the  time  of  the  Great  Rebellion.  The 
Colonel  was  in  his  corslet,  buff  and  jackboots  of 
a  trooper.  His  plumed  hat,  caught  by  a  cord, 
had  fallen  upon  his  shoulder.  He  wore  hig  hair 


214  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

long,  and  parted  in  the  middle,  like  a  Cavalier, 
not  like  a  crop-eared  Roundhead.  On  one  arm 
rested  the  bridle  of  the  grand  white  charger  he- 
side  him.  With  the  other  he  held  his  fair  boy, 
now  pacified  from  his  Astyanax  fright,  and  smiling 
at  his  father's  nodding  crest  and  glinting  breast- 
plate. The  wife,  the  first  Lucy  Brothertoft, 
stood  by,  regarding  the  two  she  loved  best  with 
tender  solicitude.  It  was,  indeed,  a  sweet  do- 
mestic group,  and  the  gentleman's  armor,  his 
impatient  war-horse,  and  that  hint  in  the  back- 
ground of  the  Manor-House,  smoking  and  in 
ruins,  gave  it  a  dramatic  element  of  doubt  and 
danger,  —  a  picture  full  of  grace,  heroism,  and 
affection,  —  one  to  dignify  a  house,  to  ennoble 
and  refine  a  household, 

Lucy  looked  at  her  mother  as  the  curtain 
parted  and  revealed  the  three  figures.  To  the 
guests  they  were  Art;  to  the  ladies  they  were 
mute  personages  in  a  tragedy.  Lucy  saw  her 
mother's  g^nce,  quick  and  covert,  at  these  faces 
she  had  so  long  evaded.  The  daughter  could 
understand  now  why,  as  Mrs.  Brothertoft  looked, 
her  countenance  seemed  resolutely  to  harden, 
and  grow  more  beautifully  Gorgon  than  ever. 

"  Quite  a  chef-d'oeuvre  \ "  says  Sir  Henry 
Clinton,  looking  through  his  hand,  with  a  know- 
ing air.  —  "  What  color  !  what  chiar'  oscuro  ! 
what  drapery !"  Jack  Andr6  exclaimed.  —  "No 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  215 

one  has  ever  painted  high-bred  people  as  Van- 
dyck,"  said  Lord  Rawdon. — "  Breddy  bicksher ! " 
was  Major  Einerick's  verdict.  — "  You  must  be 
proud,  Madam,"  said  honest  Commodore  Hot- 
ham,  ignorant  of  scandal,  "  to  bear  this  honored 
and  historic  name." 

While  these  murmurs  of  approval  were  going 
on,  Plato  announced  dinner.  The  guests  filed 
out,  leaving  the  picture  uncovered.  It  still  re- 
mained so,  now  that  the  mother  and  daughter 
sat  in  the  dusky  room,  after  dinner.  The  flash- 
ing and  fading  fire  gave  its  figures  movement 
and  unreal  life. 

Lucy  glanced  at  her  mother's  face,  now  dim, 
and  far  away,  and  now,  as  the  fire  blazed  up, 
leaping  forth  from  its  lair  of  darkness. 

"  Certainly,"  she  thought,  "  my  mother  was 
never  so  terribly  handsome." 

It  was  true.  She  was  an  imperial  woman, 
face,  form,  and  bearing.  How  majestic  her 
strong,  straight  nose,  her  full  chin,  her  vigorous 
color,  her  daring  eyes,  her  brow  of  command, 
and  her  black  hair  dressed,  after  a  mode  of  the 
day,  in  a  tower,  and  falling  in  masses  on  the 
neck!  More  flesh  and  more  color  would  have 
made  her  coarse.  Is  it  possible  that  the  excite- 
ment of  a  bad  conscience  has  refined  her  beauty  ? 
Must  the  coarse  take  the  poison  of  sin,  as  the 
fine  take  the  medicine  of  sorrow,  to  kill  the 


216  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

carnal  element  in  their  natures  ?  Is  it  needful 
for  some  to  wear,  through  life,  a  harsh  dishonor 
next  the  skin  ? 

"  How  can  this  be  ?  "  thought  Lucy.  "  Should 
not  the  heart  have  peace,  that  the  face  may  wear 
beauty,  the  emblem  of  peace  ?  Can  there  be 
peace  in  her  heart  ?  " 

Peace !  As  if  in  answer,  at  a  flash  of  firelight, 
the  mother's  face  glared  out  fierce  and  cruel. 
Sternness,  but  no  peace  there ! 

Lucy  turned,  and  took  refuge  with  the  person- 
ages of  the  picture. 

"  You,"  she  addressed  them  in  mute  appeal, 
"  are  a  world  nearer  my  heart  than  this  unmoth- 
erly  woman  beside  me.  0  chivalric  gentleman ! 
O  benign  lady !  encourage  and  sustain  me !  My 
heart  will  break  with  these  doubts  and  plots  and 
perils." 

The  two  ladies  sat  silent  by  the  firelight. 
The  guests  were  noisy,  two  doors  off.  They 
were  laughing  and  applauding  Kerr's  tipsy 
toasts,  Andre's  song,  Emerick's  Hessian  butch- 
ery of  the  King's  English. 

At  a  louder  burst  of  revelry  Lucy  started, 
shrank,  and  glanced  at  her  mother's  impassive 
face,  —  a  loyal  mask  to  its  mistress. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  also  looked  up,  and  caught 
Lucy's  eye.  For  an  instant  the  two  gazed  at 
one  another.  There  was  an  instant's  spiritual 


EDWIN   BROTHEUTOFT.  217 

struggle,  —  the  fine  nature  against  the  coarse, 
the  tainted  being  against  the  pure.  Their  two 
souls  stood  at  their  eyes,  and  battled  for  a  breath, 
while  the  fire  flashed  like  a  waving  of  torches. 

The  flash  sunk,  the  room  was  dark  again. 
But  before  the  light  was  gone  the  guilty  eyes 
wavered,  the  guilty  spirit  cowered.  Mrs.  Broth- 
ertoft  looked  away,  seeking  refuge  from  her 
daughter,  against  whose  innocent  heart  she  was 
devising  an  infamy. 

As  she  turned,  she  caught  sight  of  the  picture. 
It  was  steadily  regarding  her,  —  a  judge,  remote, 
unsympathetic,  Rhadamanthine. 

At  this  sight,  the  perpetual  inner  battle  in  her 
evil  heart  stormed  to  the  surface.  Her  coun- 
tenance was  no  longer  an  impassive  mask. 

Lucy  suddenly  saw  a  bedlam  look  leap  out 
upon  those  beautiful  features. 

It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Brothertoft  that  the  Furies, 
whose  companionship  and  hints  she  had  so  long 
encouraged,  now  closed  in  upon  her,  and  became 
body  of  her  body,  soul  of  her  soul. 

She  rose,  and  strode  up  to  the  uncovered  por- 
trait. 

She  stood  a  moment,  surveying  it  in  silence,  — 
herself  a  picture  in  the  fire-lit  obscure. 

How  beautiful  her  white  shoulders,  her  white 
bosom  above  the  dark  silk,  cut  low  and  square  in 
front,  after  a  fashion  of  the  time  !     How  won- 
10 


218  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

drously  modelled  her  perfect  arms!  The  dia- 
mond at  her  throat  trembled  like  the  unwinking 
eye  of  a  serpent. 

She  raised  her  white  right  arm,  and  pointed  at 
the  figure  of  the  Parliamentary  Colonel. 

By  the  firelight,  it  seemed  as  if  he,  thus  sum- 
moned, still  holding  his  eager  white  horse  by  the 
bridle,  stepped  out  before  the  canvas,  ready  for 
this  colloquy. 

Lucy  was  terrified  by  her  mother's  wild  ex- 
pression and  gesture.  The  gentleman  in  the 
portrait  had  taken  more  than  ever  the  semblance 
of  her  father's  very  self.  But  he  wore  a  sterner 
look  than  she  remembered  on  that  desolate  face. 

The  daughter  shuddered  at  this  strange  meet- 
ing of  her  parents,  — one  in  the  flesh,  one  in  the 
spirit. 

"  Sir !  "  said  Mrs.  Brothertoft,  still  pointing  at 
the  picture.  There  was  scorn,  veiling  dread,  in 
her  voice. 

Lucy  could  not  control  herself.  She  burst  into 
tears. 

At  the  sound  of  her  first  sob,  the  mother  came 
to  herself.  Bedlam  tore  itself  out  of  her  face 
with  a  spasm.  She  let  fall  her  round,  white 
arm.  A  tremor  and  a  chill  shook  her.  With 
these,  the  Furies  seemed  to  glide  forth  from  her 
being.  They  stood  for  an  instant,  dim  and  rus- 
tling forms  in  the  glimmer.  Then  they  van- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  219 

ishcd  to  their  place  of  call.  Mrs.  Brothertoft 
dashed  the  curtain  over  the  picture  and  moved 
away. 

She  did  not  perceive  —  for  she  looked  thither 
no  more  —  that  by  her  violent  movement  she 
had  broken  the  cord,  and  let  down  one  full  of 
the  curtain,  at  the  top,  so  that  there  was  space 
for  the  heads  of  the  soldier  and  his  white  horse 
to  appear. 

There  those  heads  wait,  as  if  at  a  window. 
There  they  seem,  horse  and  man,  to  watch  for 
their  moment  to  spring  into  that  dusky  room,  lit 
by  the  flashes  of  a  dying  fire. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  turned,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
her  sobbing  daughter's  shoulder. 

"  You  seem  agitated  and  hysterical,  my  dear," 
she  said,  almost  gently.  "  Perhaps  you  had  bet- 
ter hide  your  tears  in  your  pillow.  We  shall  not 
see  our  noisy  friends  for  some  time." 

Again  their  eyes  met  for  an  instant.  But  the 
mother  mistook  Lucy's  pleading  expression. 
She  had  lost  her  power  of  deciphering  an  in- 
nocent face.  She  fancied  she  read  contempt 
and  triumph,  where  there  was  only  pity  and 
love  longing  to  revive.  She  turned  away,  and, 
yielding  to  a  brutal  emotion,  resumed,  —  "Yes, 
go,  Lucy,  and  keep  out  of  sight  for  the  evening ! 
We  must  not  have  red  eyes  and  swollen  cheeks 
when  Adonis  comes  from  dinner  with  pretty 
speeches  for  his  fair  bride." 


220  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Lucy  rose,  disappointed  and  indignant,  and  left 
the  parlor  without  "  Good  night." 

Given  two  weeks  instead  of  two  days  before 
marriage,  and  this  gentle  spirit  might  emancipate 
itself.  But  obedience  is  still  a  piety  with  Lucy. 
Mute  mental  protests  against  injustice  do  not 
train  the  will.  It  must  win  strength  by  strug- 
gles. Her  will  has  sunk  into  chronic  inertia. 
She  suffers  now  for  her  weakness,  as  if  it  were  a 
crime. 

She  fled  by  the  noisy  dining-room  and  up  to 
her  chamber  in  the  tower  at  the  northwest  cor- 
ner of  the  house.  In  the  mild,  clear,  star-lit 
night  she  could  see  yellow  autumn  among  the 
woods  around  the  mansion.  Beyond,  the  white 
river  belted  the  world.  The  lights  of  the  Brit- 
ish frigates  sparkled  like  jewels  in  this  silver 
cincture.  Dunderberg,  large  and  vague,  hid  the 
spaces  westward,  where  night  was  overflowing 
twilight.  Northward,  the  Highlands  closed  the 
view,  dim  as  Lucy's  hope. 

Ah !  why  was  there  no  clairvoyante  Sister 
Anne  to  cry  that  she  saw  "  somebody  coming,"  — 
to  tell  the  desolate  girl,  staring  from  her  window 
into  the  unfriendly  night,  that  succor  was  afoot, 
and  hastening  in  three  detachments  southward, 
as  fast  as  the  boulder,  the  bog,  and  the  forest 
would  permit. 

there   was    no   Sister   Anne,   no    friend 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  221 

within  or  without  the  house.  And  so,  closed 
doors  !  Weep,  sob,  pray,  poor  child.  Suffer,  suf- 
fer, young  heart !  Suffer  and  be  strong ! 

Closed  doors  at  last,  and  quiet  at  the  Manor. 
Songs  silent.  Revelry  over.  The  guests  have 
gone,  walking  as  men  walk  after  too  many 
bumpers.  Sentinels  here  and  there  have  re- 
ceived the  inarticulate  countersign.  The  boats' 
crews,  chilly  and  sulky  with  long  waiting,  have 
pulled  the  "  lobsters "  off  to  the  frigates,  and 
boosted  them  up  the  sides.  They  have  tumbled 
into  their  berths  in  ward-room  or  cabin,  —  one, 
alas !  with  his  Hessians  on !  They  must  quickly 
sleep  off  wassail,  and  be  ready  to  stir  with  dawn, 
for  at  sunrise  General  Vaughaii  starts  with  his 
flotilla  up  the  river.  And  most  of  the  diners- 
out,  whether  their  morning  headaches  like  it  or 
not,  must  go  with  the  General  to  commit  arson 
upon  Esopus,  alias  Kingston,  a  most  pestilent 
nest  of  rebels. 

Quiet  then  aboard  the  Tartar,  the  Preston,  and 
the  Mercury,  swinging  to  their  anchors  in  the 
calm  river !  Quiet  at  the  Manor-House !  but  not 
peaceful  repose,  —  for  in  their  dreams  the  spirits 
of  the  mother  and  the  daughter  battle,  and  both 
are  worn  and  weary  with  that  miserable  war. 


V. 


THERE  were  three  headaches  next  morning  at 
the  breakfast-table  at  Brothertoft  Manor. 

Major  Kerr  carried  an  enormous  ache  in  his 
thick  skull.  His  was  the  crapulous  headache. 
He  knew  it  well.  Every  manner  of  cure,  except 
prevention,  he  had  experimented  upon.  The 
soda-water-cure  did  not  reach  his  malady.  The 
water-cure,  whether  applied  in  the  form  of  pump 
or  a  wet  turban,  was  equally  futile. 

"  It  could  n't  have  been  t'  other  bottle  that 
has  made  me  feel  so  queer,"  Kerr  soliloquized. 
"  Must  have  been  Jack  Andrews  mawkish  songs. 
I  never  could  stand  poetry." 

So  he  marched  down  to  breakfast,  more  Rubens 
in  complexion  than  ever,  and  twice  as  surly. 

Spending  tears  had  given  Lucy  her  headache. 
She  had  wept  enough  to  fill  a  brace  of  lacry- 
matories.  The  pangs  sharpened  when  she  saw 
Adonis  appear,  very  red  and  very  gruff.  He 
seemed  fairly  loathsome  to  her  now. 

"Must  such  a  beast  —  yes,  I  will  say  beast  — 
as  that  come  near  me  ? "  thought  she. 


EDWIN   BBOTHKRTOFT.  223 

Strong  language  for  a  young  lady ;  but  appro- 
priate. It  is  well  to  have  a  few  ugly  epithets 
in  one's  vocabulary.  Hard  words  have  their 
virtue  and  their  place,  as  well  as  soft  ones. 

Mrs.  Brothertoffc  also  had  a  headache. 

She  looked  pale  and  ill  this  morning.  This 
will  never  do,  Madain.  Consider  your  beauty ! 
It  will  consume  away,  if  you  allow  so  much 
fever  in  your  brain. 

Breakfast  was  more  silent  even  than  yester- 
day's. No  headache  cared  to  ask  sympathy  of 
either  of  the  others. 

Lucy  said  not  a  word.  She  compelled  herself 
to  be  at  table.  She  dreaded  her  mother's  pres- 
ence ;  but  she  dreaded  her  absence  still  more. 
Lucy  suffered  under  the  uneasiness  of  a  young 
plotter.  She  knew  that  her  plot  was  visible  in 
her  face.  She  trembled  at  every  look.  And  yet 
she  felt  safer  while  she  was  facing  her  foes. 
Poor  child !  if  she  could  have  wept,  as  she 
wished,  freely  and  alone,  a  dozen  of  lacryma- 
torics  —  magnums  —  would  not  have  held  her 
tears. 

Moody  Mrs.  Brothertoft  is  also  silent. 

She  does  not  think  it  good  policy  to  draw  out 
her  son-in-law  this  morning.  Only  a  wretchedly 
low  card,  and  no  trump,  will  respond  to  the 
attempt.  T  other  bottle  rather  drowns  the  power 
of  repartee.  Major  Kerr  was  too  inarticulate 


224  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

last  night  to  be  very  coherent  this  morning 
A  courtly  bow  and  a  fine  manner  are  hardly 
to  be  expected  at  levee  from  a  hero  lugged  to 
his  couchSe  by  Plato  and  two  clodhoppers,  — 
themselves  a  little  out  of  line  and  step  with 
too  many  heeltaps.  The  hostess  does  not  choose 
by  solicitous  questions  to  get  growls  from  the 
future  bridegroom,  such  as, — 

Kerr  loquitur.  "  Yes,  thank  you  ;  my  tea  is 
mere  milksop ;  my  egg  an  addle ;  my  toast  a 
chip ;  my  butter  lard ;  my  buckwheat  cakes 
dem'd  flabby.  Everything  has  a  tipsy  taste  and 
smells  of  corked  Madeira.  0,  my  head  ! " 

Such  talk  would  not  make  the  lover  more 
captivating.  He  had  better  be  left  to  himself, 
to  take  his  breakfast  with  what  stomach  he 
may. 

Nor  does  Mrs.  Brothertoft  think  it  wise  to 
remark  upon  yesterday's  dinner  and  its  distin- 
guished guests  to  her  daughter.  Remark  brings 
rejoinder.  This  morning,  again,  Lucy  had  no 
kiss  for  her  mother.  Instead  of  the  warm,  ten- 
der caress  of  other  days,  with  warmth  and  ten- 
derness for  two,  Lucy's  manner  was  grave  and 
distant. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  divines  incipient  rebellion  in 
her  daughter.  She  does  not  wish  to  let  it  cul- 
tivate itself  with  contradictions.  If  she  should 
propound,  "  It  is  a  fine  morning,"  Lucy  might 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  225 

say,  "  It  seems  to  me  cold  as  Greenland."  If 
she  suggested,  "  My  dear,  have  the  horses  sad- 
dled, and  take  Major  Kerr  to  see  the  view  from 
Cedar  Ridge,"  Lucy  would  probably  respond, 
"  Major  Kerr  is  not  fond  of  nature,  and  I  am 
afraid  of  marauders."  If*  she  remarked,  "  What 
a  grand,  soldierly  creature  Major  Emerick  is ! 
What  an  amusing  accent !  and  his  moustache 
how  terribly  charming ! "  Lucy  might  curl  her 
pretty  lip,  and  reply,  "  Grand  !  soldierly !  the 
hirsute  ogre  !  As  to  his  accent,  —  I  do  not 
understand  Hessian ;  and  it  does  not  amuse  mo 
to  hear  good  pronounced  '  coot,'  and  to  have 
pictures,  flowers,  soup,  and  the  North  River, 
all  classed  together  and  complimented  as  '  bred- 
dy.'  And  as  to  his  moustache,  —  no  moustache 
is  tolerable  ;  and  if  any,  certainly  not  that  great 
black  thing."  Nor  would  it  do  for  the  mother 
to  say,  "  I  am  sure  you  found  Captain  Andre*  an 
Admirable  Crichton,"  and  to  hear  from  her 
daughter  in  reply,  "  Don't  speak  of  him !  I  am 
still  sick  with  his  sentimentality  of  a  Strephon. 
He  is  a  flippant  coxcomb.  I  do  not  wonder 
Miss  Honora  Sneyd  got  tired  of  him,  with  his 
little  smile  and  his  little  sneer." 

Such  responses  Lucy  would  probably  have 
made  to  her  mother's  attempts  at  breakfast-table 
talk.  Do  these  answers  seem  inconsistent  with 
the  great  sorrow  and  the  great  terror  in  the  girl's 

10*  Q 


226  EDWIN   B1JO  TiiERTOFT. 

heart  ?  Our  passions,  like  our  persons,  are  not 
always  en  grande  tenue.  It  is  a  sign  that  the 
heart  is  not  quite  broken,  when  its  owner  has 
life  enough  to  be  pettish.  The  popgun  is  the 
father  of  the  great  gun.  Silly  skirmish  and 
bandying  of  defiance  precede  the  great  battle 
for  life  and  death. 

So  Mrs.  Brothertoft  knew,  and  she  was  not 
willing  to  give  Lucy  the  'chance  to  hear  herself 
say,  '  No.'  If  she  were  once  publicly  compro- 
mised as  of  the  negative  faction,  she  might,  even 
at  this  late  hour,  foster  her  little  germ  of  inde- 
pendence. She  might  wake  up  to-morrow  with 
a  Will  of  Her  Own,  grown  in  a  single  night  as 
big  as  Jack's  bean-stalk.  She  might  expand  her 
solitary,  forlorn  hope  of  a  first  No  into  a  con- 
quering army.  No,  No,  —  only  a  letter  and  a 
cipher,  —  she  might  add  ciphers,  multiply  it  by 
successive  tens  and  make  it  No,ooo,ooo,ooo, — 
and  so  on,  until  she  was  impregnable  to  the 
appointed  spouse. 

This  of  course  must  not  be. 

The  mother  did  not  know  that  Lucy  had  hoist- 
ed a  signal  of  distress,  and  that  she  was  almost 
ready  to  haul  her  flag  up  from  half-mast,  and  fly 
it  at  the  masthead  of  defiance.  This  Mrs.  Broth- 
ertoft did  not  suspect  of  her  submissive  and  meek 
child.  She  knew  nothing  of  Voltaire's  errand. 
But  she  had  grown  suddenly  apprehensive  and 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  227 

timorous,  and  hardly  recognized  her  old  intrepid 
self  this  morning.  She  began  to  qnail  a  little 
more  and  more  before  her  daughter's  innocence. 
For  all  reasons,  she  did  not  desire  to  provoke 
discussion. 

A  grim,  mute  breakfast,  therefore,  at  Brother- 
toft  Manor. 

Each  headache  looked  into  its  tea-cup  in 
silence.  Major  Kerr  crunched  a  bit  of  dry 
toast,  instead  of  feeding  omnivorously. 

There  is  no  conversation  of  this  party  to  re- 
port, gay  or  glum. 

But  tableau  is  sometimes  more  dramatic  than 
talk. 

A  new-comer  at  the  door  glanced  at  this 
unsociable  trio,  and  deciphered  the  picture 
pretty  accurately. 

It  was  old  Voltaire,  limping  forward  from 
the  kitchen. 

Lucy  sat  with  her  face  toward  the  pantry 
door,  and  first  saw  him. 

Flash !  Lucy  lightened  and  almost  showered 
tears  at  the  rising  of  this  black  cloud,  charged 
with  fresh  electricity. 

Flash  back !  from  the  whites  of  Voltaire's 
eyes  and  from  his  teeth. 

It  was  a  brief  flash,  but  abiding  enough  to 
show  Lucy,  through  her  gloom,  one  figure 
stealing  to  her  succor.  Him  she  was  sure  of, 


228  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

—  her  father.  But  one  gleam  from  the  whites 
of  a  black  could  not  reveal  the  other  recruits 
to  her  rebel  army.  So  they  must  remain  la- 
tent, with  their  names  and  faces  latent,  until 
she  can  have  an  interview  with  her  complotter. 

But  what  a  hot  agony  of  hope  blazed  up 
within  her  at  Voltaire's  look  and  cunning  nod  ! 

"  I  must  not  scream  with  joy,"  she  thought. 
"  I  must  not  shriek  out  this  great,  wicked,  tri- 
umphant laugh  I  feel  stirring  in  me.  I  must 
not  jump  up  and  hug  the  dear  old  soul. 
Thank  Heaven,  my  tea  is  hot,  and  I  can  choke 
myself  and  cry." 

Which  she  proceeded  to  do ;  and  under  cover 
of  her  napkin  got  her  face  into  mask  condition 
again. 

She  was  taking  lessons  —  this  fair  novice  —  in 
what  a  woman's  face  is  made  for ;  —  namely,  to 
look  cool  when  the  heart  is  fiery ;  to  look  dull, 
when  the  wits  have  just  suffered  the  whetstone ; 
to  look  blank,  when  the  soul's  hieroglyphs  will 
stare  out  if  a  blush  is  only  turned  on ;  to  look 
tame,  when  the  spirit  is  tiger;  to  look  peace, 
when  there  is  no  peace ;  to  look  mild  as  new 
milk,  when  the  blood  boils  and  explosion  butts 
against  the  wired  cork  of  self-control.  A  guile- 
ful world,  guileless  lady !  and  you  must  fight 
your  fight  to-day  with  silence  and  secrecy,  lest 
mamma  detect  a  flutter  in  your  bo^om,  and  your 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  229 

fledgling  purpose  of  flight  get  its  pin-feathers 
pulled,  if  not  its  neck  wrung. 

Voltaire  limped  forward  with  a  plate  of  buck- 
wheat cakes.  They  were  meal  of  the  crop 
which  had  whitened  the  slopes  of  Westchester 
this  summer,  and  purpled  them  this  autumn. 
They  were  round  as  a  doubloon,  or  the  moon  at 
its  fullest.  Their  edges  were  sharp,  and  not 
ragged  and  taggy.  Their  complexion  was  most 
delicate  mulatto.  Their  texture  was  bubbly  as 
the  wake  of  a  steamboat.  Eyes  never  lighted  on 
higher  art  than  the  top  cake,  and  even  the  one 
next  the  plate  utterly  refused  to  be  soggy.  In- 
deed, each  pancake  was  a  poem,  —  a  madrigal 
of  Sappho's  most  simply  delicate  confectioning, 
round  as  a  sonnet,  and  subtle  in  flavor  as  an 
epigram. 

These  pearls  Voltaire  cast  before  the  party. 
Nobody  partook.  Nobody  appreciated.  Nobody 
noticed.  The  three  appetites  of  the  three  head- 
aches were  too  dead  to  stir. 

The  old  fellow  was  retiring,  when  Mrs.  Broth- 
ertoft  addressed  him  roughly. 

"  I  shall  promote  Plato  and  break  you,  Vol- 
taire, if  you  are  taken  sick  at  the  wrong  time 
again." 

"  Sorry,  missus.  Colored  mobbas,  missus. 
No  stoppin'  him.  Bery  bad  indeed !  " 

His  appearance  disarmed  suspicion.     He  was 


230  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

a  weary  and  dismal  object  after  his  journey. 
No  one,  to  look  at  him,  would  have  divined  that 
his  pangs  were  of  the  motive  powers,  and  not 
the  digestive,  —  that  he  suffered  with  the  nicked 
shin,  the  stubbed  toe,  and  the  strained  calf,  and 
was  utterly  unconscious  of  a  stomach,  except  as 
a  locality  for  colonizing  a  white  lie  in. 


VI. 

WHEN  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  when  Cceur  de 
Lion  and  Blondel,  want  speech  of  each  other, 
Wall  will  ever  have  "  a  cranny  right  and  sinister  " 
for  their  whispers,  will  "  show  a  chink  to  blink 
through  with  their  eyne." 

Breakfast  was  over.  Voltaire  was  in  the  pan- 
try, clashing  dish  and  pan  for  a  signal.  Lucy 
waited  her  moment  to  dart  in  and  get  her  hopes 
of  escape  made  into  certainties. 

"  I  am  going  up  stairs,  Lucy,"  said  her  mother, 
"  to  give  Dewitt  her  last  hints  about  your  wed- 
ding-dress. Come  up  presently  and  try  it  on." 

She  went  out,  leaving  lover  and  lady  together. 

Kerr  stood  before  the  fire  in  his  favorite  pos- 
ture. His  face  was  red,  his  jacket  was  red.  He 
produced  the  effect  of  a  great  unmeaning  daub 
of  scarlet  in  &  genre  —  mauvais  genre  —  picture. 

The  big  booby  grew  embarrassed  with  himself. 
The  quiet  presence  of  this  young  girl  abashed 
him.  He  knew  that  his  suit  was  an  insult  to  her. 
He  saw  that  she  did  not  appreciate  his  feet  and 
inches.  Neither  his  cheeks  nor  his  shoulders 


232  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

nor  his  calves  touched  her  heart.  His  vanity 
had  been  hurt,  and  he  felt  a  spiteful  triumph 
that  she  was  in  his  power. 

This  morning  he  was  ashamed  of  himself.  It 
is  a  grievous  thing  that  men  cannot  go  to  bed 
tipsy  and  wake  up  without  headaches  and  with 
self-respect.  Perhaps  it  will  be  different  when 
Chaos  comes  again. 

Kerr  felt  disgusted  with  himself,  and  embar- 
rassed. He  wanted  to  talk  to  cover  his  awk- 
wardness. He  did  not  know  what  to  say.  The 
complaint  is  not  uncommon. 

"  I  suppose  she  knows  it 's  a  fine  day,  and 
wont  thank  me  for  telling  her,"  he  thought. 
"Vaughan's  trip  up  the  river,  —  that's  talked 
out.  I  made  the  pun  about  Esopus  and  Esop's 
fables,  that  Rawdon  got  off  last  night,  and  she 
did  n't  laugh.  I  wish  I  had  Jack  Andre's  tongue. 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  cut  it  out  of  him  —  the 
dashed  whipper-snapper  —  for  trying  to  get  her 
to  flirt  with  him  yesterday.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  be  making  love  now.  But  she  has  never  let 
me  come  near  enough  to  make  what  I  call  love. 
Well,  I  must  say  something.  Here  goes !  Ahem ! 
Lucy  —  Miss  Lucy." 

"  Sir." 

"  It 's  a  very  fine  day." 

"  Very." 

"  A  most  uncommonly  fine  day  for  this  doosed 
climate." 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  233 

No  reply. 

"  I  'd  box  the  dumb  thing's  ears  if  she  wag 
Mrs.  K.,"  thought  the  Major.  "  But  she  sha'n't 
silence  me.  I'll  give  her  another  chance.  Ahem! 
Miss  Lucy !  Would  n't  you  like  to  stroll  out  and 
take  the  air  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you.    Do  not  let  me  detain  you." 

"  I  say,  you  know,  we  're  to  be  married  to- 
morrow. You  need  n't  be  so  infernally  distant." 

"  My  mother  wishes  me  to  join  her  with  tho 
dressmakers." 

"  Well,  if  you  wont  come,  you  wont,"  says 
Kerr,  taking  himself  off  in  dudgeon. 

He  walked  out  upon  the  lawn.  The  air  was 
nine-oxygen  azote  of  the  purest  proof.  He  swal- 
lowed it  boozily,  as  if  it  were  six-water  grog. 

Lucy  hied  to  the  trysting-place,  where  the 
arch-plotter  was  waiting  amid  pans  and  dishes. 

"  0  Voltaire,  tell  me !  "  she  cried.  And  hero 
tears  interrupted  her,  and  gushed  as  if  she  in- 
tended to  use  the  biggest  pan  for  a  lacrymatory. 

"  Don't  cry,  Miss  Lucy,"  the  old  fellow  says. 
"  It 's  good  news  !  " 

At  which  she  only  wept  the  more. 

Without  much  knowledge  of  the  chemistry  of 
tears,  Yoltaire  saw  that  spending  them  relieved 
and  calmed  the  young  lady.  Meanwhile,  to  bo 
talking  on  indifferent  subjects  until  her  first 
burst  was  over,  he  said,  "  I  saw  Major  Scrammel 


234  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

at  Fishkill,  Miss  Lucy.  He  asked  after  your 
health." 

"  I  am  obliged  to  him."  The  name  seemed 
to  act  like  a  dash  of  cold  water.  These  Majors 
fatigued  her.  Scrammel  Yankee,  Emerick  Hes- 
sian, Kerr  British,  —  she  liked  none  of  them. 
She  began  to  feel  a  disgust  for  the  grade. 

"  My  father ! "  she  said,  with  her  whole  heart 
in  the  word,  "  tell  me  of  him.  He  has  not  for- 
gotten me.  He  loves  me.  He  will  save  me  from 
this  —  this  —  "  A  sob  drowned  the  epithet. 

"  He  loves  you  dearly,"  Voltaire  responded. 

"  Lub,"  he  still  pronounced  the  precious  word. 
He  brought  his  two  thick  lips  together  to  sound 
the  final  "  b,"  instead  of  lightly  touching  his 
upper  teeth  against  his  lower  lip  and  breathing 
out  "  ve  "  final. 

This  great  fact  of  love  established,  with  all  its 
sequel,  by  a  single  word,  Lucy,  womanlike,  de- 
sired to  know  that  this  dear  new  lover  no  longer 
misunderstood  her.  She  must  be  satisfied  that 
she  stood  right  in  his  esteem  before  she  could 
take  thought  of  her  own  dangers. 

"  You  told  him,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "  that  I 
was  not  an  unnatural  daughter,  —  only  deceived 
and  deluded  by  this  cruel  woman  ?  " 

Tears  had  started  again,  as  she  thought  of  the 
misery  he  must  have  suffered  for  her  disloyalty. 
But  indignation  at  her  mother  burned  them  up, 
and  she  closed  her  sentence  sternly. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  235 

"  He  sees  through  it  all,"  the  old  ambassador 
replied. 

"  How  did  he  look  ?  Not  very  sad,  I  hope  ?  " 
she  said. 

Womanlike  again,  she  must  have  the  person 
before  her  eyes.  She  must  see  him,  a  visible 
being,  —  that  she  could  take  to  her  heart  with 
infinite  love  and  pity  and  hope,  —  before  she 
could  listen  to  his  message  of  comfort  to  her. 

"  He  looked  pretty  old,  Miss  Lucy.  His  hair 's 
grown  gray.  It  oughtn't  to.  He  's  a  boy  still, — 
only  a  little  better  than  forty.  He  could  make 
his  life  all  over  again  yet.  But  he  looked  old 
and  settled  down  sad.  He  's  got  a  sargeant's 
coat  on,  instead  of  a  general's ;  but  he  looks, 
into  his  face,  as  if  he  know'd  all  generals  know, 
and  a  heap  more." 

"  My  dear  father  !  "  interjected  Lucy  in  the 
middle  of  Voltaire's  description.  And  she 
thought  what  a  beloved  task  it  would  be  for 
her  to  renew  and  restore  that  ruined  life. 

"  And  now,  Voltaire,"  she  said,  "  can  he  pro- 
tect me  ? " 

"  We  talked  it  all  over.  He  did  n't  see  any- 
thing he  could  do.  He  said  he  was  too  broken- 
hearted to  plan  for  anybody." 

Poor  Lucy !  all  her  hopes  thus  dashed  down ! 
She  could  almost  hear  her  own  heart  break. 

But  Voltaire   continued :    "  He  had  guv  "  — 


236  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

(no  Tombigbee,  old  boy  !)  — "  given  it  all  up, 
and  I  was  goin'  off  feelin'  mighty  low,  —  mighty 
low,  I  tell  you,  Miss  Lucy.  I  started  off  for 
the  woods  and  sot  down,  lookin'  for  a  cquer- 
ril-hole  to  git  into,  and  die  like  a  fourlegs. 
Jess  then,  jess  before  I  'd  found  my  dyin'  bed, 
I  heerd  somebody  screech,  '  Voltaire,  Voltaire  ! ' 
like  mad.  Fust  I  thought  't  was  the  -Holy 
Angels.  Then  I  thought  praps  't  was  the  Black 
Debbls,  prowlin'.  I  looked  round  the  woods, 
pretty  skeered,  and  heerd  chestnuts  drap.  Then 
come  the  yell  again,  and  your  father  lighted 
right  down  on  me  and  dragged  me  back  like 
a  go-cart.  I  did  n't  know  what  was  comin' ;  but 
he  yanked  me  up  the  bank  to  the  old  well, 
afront  of  Squire  Van  Wyck's  farm-house,  and 
there  I  saw  —  " 

At  this  point  of  his  eager  recital  Voltaire's 
ancient  bellow  had  to  pause  and  draw  breath. 

"  Saw ! "  cried  Lucy  equally  eager,  peopling 
this  pause  with  a  great  legion  of  upstart  hopes, 
all  in  buff  and  blue,  fine  old  Continentals  com- 
plete from  boots  to  queues ;  but  strangers  to 
her,  and  therefore  without  faces. 

"  Saw  Major  Skerrett,"  gasped  Voltaire. 

All  that  legion  of  hopes  in  Lucy's  brain  sud- 
denly condensed  into  a  single  heroic  Continental 
vision,  with  the  name  Skerrett  for  a  face.  She 
was  sure  this  new-comer  meant  HELP,  She 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  237 

could  feel  her  just  now  breaking  heart  tie  itself 
together  with  a  chain,  each  link  a  letter  of  the 
name  Skerrett. 

"Another  Major!"  she  said,  half  impatiently. 

There  was  almost  a  shade  of  coquetry  in  her 
little  protest  against  this  stranger  personage. 
The  woman  was  not  dead  in  her  yet. 

"  Anudder  Major  ob  anudder  stuff.  De  good 
God,  not  de  Debbl, —  he  make  dis  one." 

"  0  Voltaire,  don't  talk  so  !  " 

Did  she  object  to  his  fact  in  physiology,  or 
to  his  pronunciation  ? 

Voltaire,  with  bellows  rested,  now  began  to 
describe  the  new  hero  with  enthusiasm.  His 
touches  were  crude,  but  picturesque,  —  a  char- 
coal sketch. 

"  Major  Skerrett,  Miss  Lucy.  0  my !  what  a 
beautiful  moustache  he  had !  jess  the  color  of 
ripe  chestnut-leaves,  and  curling  down  on  each 
side,  so." 

The  black  forefinger  described  an  ogee  on 
either  black  lip. 

Lucy  did  not  interrupt.  She  must  have  her 
correct  image  of  the  new  actor  before  she  in- 
quired his  role.  She  perceived  already  that  ho 
was  not  to  be  a  sicklied  Hamlet. 

Her  first  picture  of  the  hero  had  been  a  figure 
in  a  Continental  uniform,  with  the  name  Sker- 
rett instead  of  a  face. 


238  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Second  picture:  Lucy  sees  the  mere  name 
vanish.  Two  chestnut-leaves,  fine  gold  as  Octo- 
ber can  paint  them,  broad  in  the  middle,  blunt 
at  the  but,  taper  toward  the  point,  serrated 
along  the  edges,  dispose  themselves  to  her  mind's 
eye  in  the  air,  and  form  a  moustache.  She 
looks  at  her  vision  of  this  isolated  feature,  and 
thinks,  "  It  is  much  prettier  than  Major  Eme- 
rick's." 

"  A  go-ahead  nose,"  continues  Voltaire,  with- 
out pause. 

Lucy  inserts  a  go-ahead  nose  into  the  blank, 
over  and  a  little  ahead  of  the  moustache.  Third 
picture. 

"  No  mumps  round  his  cheeks  and  chin,"  the 
describer  went  on. 

Not  a  mump  had  ever  disfigured  the  cheeks 
Lucy  hereupon  balanced  on  either  side  of  the 
nose  and  the  chin  which  she  had  located  under 
the  two  chestnut-leaves.  Picture  fourth. 

"  Eyes  blue  as  that  saucer,"  —  Voltaire  pointed 
to  a  piece  of  delicate  china,  —  "  and  they  look 
like  the  Holy  Angels." 

Into  their  sockets  Lucy  inserted  a  pair  of 
orbs,  saucer  in  color  not  in  shape,  and  gave 
them  a  holy,  angelic  expression.  She  inspected 
the  growing  portrait  with  her  own  sweet  eyes, — 
they  were  hazel,  "  an  excellent  thing  in  woman," 
—  and  began  to  think  the  illumined  face  very 
charming. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  239 

"  Lots  of  tan  on  his  bark,"  resumed  the 
painter  in  words. 

Lucy  dipped  her  pencil  in  umber  and  gave 
the  bark  of  cheeks,  chin,  and  nose  a  nut-brown 
tint,  that  bravely  backed  the  gold  of  the  mous- 
tache. 

"  Yaller  hair  under  his  cocked  hat." 

"  Yellow  !  if  you  please,  Voltaire,"  she  pro- 
tested, and  with  skilful  thought  she  adjusted 
the  coiffure. 

"  No  queue." 

An  imaginary  queue,  tied  with  a  tumbled 
black  ribbon,  had  been  bobbing  in  the  air  near 
the  hero's  cerebellum.  Lucy  docked  it,  and,  with 
a  scornful  gesture,  sent  it  whirling  off  into  the 
Unseen. 

"  Now,"  says  Voltaire,  "  you  jess  stick  in  Troot 
(Truth),  Wercher  (Virtue),  Kerridge  (Cour- 
age), and  all  the  other  good  tilings  into  that  are 
face :  you  jess  clap  on  a  smile  that  '11  make 
a  dough  heart  in  a  bosom  turn  into  light  gin- 
gerbread ;  and  give  him  a  look  that  can  make 
stubbed  toes  want  to  wheel  about  and  turn  about 
and  dance  breakdowns,  and  is  stickin'  plaster 
to  every  scratch  on  an  old  free  colored  gentle- 
man's shins:  you  jess  think  you  see  a  Major 
what  Liberty  and  all  the  Holy  Angels  is  pullin' 
caps  for,  and  all  the  Debbls  is  shakin'  litif  away 
from  where  he  stands :  you  jess  git  all  that 


240  EDWIN   BROTHEETOFT. 

in  your  eye,  Miss  Lucy,  and  you  've  got  Major 
Skerrett." 

The  picture  was  complete.  Truth,  Virtue, 
Courage,  and  the  sister  qualities,  Lucy  had  dim- 
pled into  the  bronzed  cheeks,  as  a  sailor  pricks 
an  anchor,  or  Polly's  name,  into  a  brother  tar's 
arm  with  India  ink.  She  had  given  the  hero's 
face  a  smile,  yeasty,  sugary,  and  pungent  enough 
to  convert  the  dullest  dough  heart  into  light  gin- 
gerbread. She  had  bestowed  upon  her  ideal  a 
look  that  would  be  surgery  to  scarred  shins  and 
light  fantasy  to  the  weariest  toes.  Now  she 
passed  her  finger  over  the  chestnut-leaf  mous- 
tache to  smooth  down  its  serrated  edges.  The 
portrait  was  done.  Lucy  surveyed  it  an  instant, 
and  blushed  to  think  it  was  indeed  a  Major  that 
women  and  angels  might  pull  caps  for. 

She  blushed  to  herself — the  simple  maid  — 
and  felt  a  slight  shame  at  her  longing  to  see  if 
the  real  man  was  identical  with  her  ideal. 

This  child  —  remember  she  was  but  eighteen, 
and  had  been  kept  by  herself  and  her  mother,  a 
complete  child  until  just  now  —  this  child  had 
hitherto  had  no  ideal  of  a  hero  except  that  he 
must  be  Kerr's  opposite.  We  know  already  her 
verdict  upon  the  British  officers.  Of  Putnam's 
family,  Scrammel  she  distrusts ;  Radidre  she 
would  like  as  a  friend,  if  he  were  not  so  Gallic, 
dyspeptic,  and  testy ;  Humphreys  is  ridiculous, 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  241 

with  his  grand  airs  and  his  prosy  poetasras ;  Liv- 
ingston amuses  her ;  —  voila  tout ! 

"  And  can  this  gentleman  help  ?  "  she  asked 
earnestly,  as  soon  as  she  had  his  person  before 
her  eyes. 

"  Help !  "  says  Voltaire ;  "  he  can't  help  help- 
ing. That 's  his  business  under  this  canopy." 

The  negro  stated  briefly  the  scheme  for  Kerr's 
capture  and  her  abduction. 

Lucy  comprehended  the  whole  in  a  moment. 

"  Major  Skerrett  sent  you  a  message,  Miss 
Lucy,"  says  the  successful  envoy,  closing  his 
report. 

"  Me ! "  she  said.  She  massacred  a  little 
scruple,  that  Major  Kerr's  betrothed  ought  not 
to  be  receiving  messages  from  strange  majors. 
"  What  is  it  ?  He  is  very  kind  to  think  of  me." 

"  He  said,  '  Tell  Miss  Brothertoft  to  be  brave, 
to  be  prudent,  and  to  keep  her  room  with  a 
headache,  until  we  are  ready  to  start.'  " 

"  It  makes  me  brave  and  prudent,  now  that  I 
have  a  strong  friend  to  trust.  But  the  headache 
I  had  is  all  gone.  I  never  felt  so  well  and  happy 
in  my  life." 

"  Look  at  him !  "  Yoltaire  rejoined,  pointing 
to  Kerr,  through  the  pantry  window.  "  That 
will  make  you  ache  from  your  head  to  your  heels." 

She  did  look,  and  ached  at  once  with  fresh 
resentment  and  disgust. 

11  r 


242  EiAVlN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Kerr  was  leaning  limp  against  a  tree,  breath- 
ing tipsily  his  nine-oxygen  azote.  The  golden 
hills,  the  blue  river,  and  the  mountains,  blue  and 
gold,  had  no  charms  for  him.  He  was  thinking, 
"  Almost  time  to  make  it  seven  bells.  I  can't 
touch  anything  stronger  thai  six- water  grog  this 
morning.  0  my  head !  " 

"  Pretty  fellow  fur  a  lubber  to  my  young 
lady  !  "  says  Voltaire.  His  mispronunciation 
revealed  a  truth. 

This  faithful  blackamoor  now  proceeded  to  act 
Othello  relating  his  adventures.  He  had  a  tragi- 
comic episode  to  impart  of  his  "  hair-breadth 
'scapes,"  "  of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe," 
of  all  "  his  portance  in  his  travel's  history  "  ;  and 
what  he  suffered,  shin  and  sole,  in  the  "  rough 
quarries,  rocks,  and  hills"  back  of  Anthony's 
Nose,  while  he  dodged  by  night  along  the  by- 
paths. 

Lucy  "  gave  him  for  his  pains  a  world  of 
sighs,"  and  "  loved  him  for  the  dangers  he  had 
passed  "  in  her  service. 

"  Now,"  said  the  loyal  squiro,  in  conclusion, 
"  I  must  set  you  something  to  do,  Miss  Lucy." 

"  What  ?  "  she  asked,  trembling  a  little  at  re- 
sponsibility. 

"Send  Dewitt  and  Sally  Bilsby  off  home! 
They  '11  want  a  frolic  after  working  so  hard  on 
your  wedding-dress.  We  must  have  the  house 
to  ourselves  to-night." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.       «  243 

"Tonight!  Lucy's  heart  bounded  and  sunk, 
Yes,  she  must  be  free  to-night,  or  to-morrow 
would  make  her  a  slave. 

"  Miss  Lucy,"  whispered  Voltaire,  "  two  of 
'em  was  here  already  before  sunrise." 

"  Not  the  "     She  hesitated. 

"  Not  the  Major !  No  ;  old  Sam  Galsworthy 
and  Hcndrecus  Canady.  You  know  'em.  They 
come  to  see  how  the  land  lay." 

"  Mother  calls ;  I  must  go,"  said  Lucy,  in  a 
tremor. 

She  gave  one  look  through  the  window  at 
Kerr,  leaning  limp  against  a  chestnut-tree. 
The  Skerrett-moustache-colored  leaves  in  myriad 
pairs  shook  over  him.  She  seemed  to  see  a 
myriad  of  faces,  with  go-ahead  noses,  no  mumps, 
angelic  blue  eyes,  bronzed  skins,  and  truth  and 
courage  in  every  line,  looking  out  of  the  tree, 
and  signalizing  her,  "  Be  brave  !  be  prudent !  " 


VII. 

PORTENTOUS  all  the  morning  was  Voltaire  to 
Sappho. 

Now  cookery,  like  chemistry,  must  have  peace 
to  perform  its  experiments  in. 

Poor  Sappho,  with  her  husband  darting  into  the 
kitchen,  looking  mysterious,  exploding  "  Hush !  " 
and  darting  off  again,  was  as  much  flustered 
as  a  nervous  chemical  professor  when  his  pupils 
jeer  his  juggles  with  cabbage-liquor,  and  turn 
up  rebellious  noses  at  his  olefiant  gas. 

Sappho's  great  experiment  of  dinner  suffered. 
She  put  sugar  in  her  soup  and  salt  in  her  pud- 
ding. She  sowed  allspice  for  peppercorns,  and 
vice  versa.  She  overdid  the  meat  that  should 
have  been  underdone.  She  roasted  her  goose 
until  its  skin  was  plate  armor.  She  baked  her 
piecrust  hard  as  Westchester  shale.  Yester- 
day's dinner  was  sublime ;  to-day's  would  be 
ridiculous.  Conspiracy  upsets  domestic  econo- 
my, as  it  does  political. 

When  Voltaire  had  deranged  his  wife  with 
dark  hints,  he  proceeded  to  perplex  his  son. 


.      EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  245 

Plato  was  lord  of  the  stables.  These  were 
times  of  war.  Westchester  was  beginning  to 
suffer  for  being  neutral  ground  for  rebel  and 
tory  to  plunder.  Rents  came  slow  at  Brothertoft 
Manor,  and  when  they  came  were  short.  Econo- 
my must  be  consulted.  That  crafty  counsellor 
suggested  that  Plato's  helpers  in  the  stable 
should  be  discharged,  and  he  do  three  men's 
work.  He  was  allowed,  however,  Bilsby  juve- 
nissimm  and  another  urchin  from  the  Manor  to 
"  chore  "  for  him.  They  were  unpaid  attaches. 
They  did  free  service  as  stable-boys,  for  the 
honor  and  education  of  the  thing,  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  chewing  straws  among  the  horses,  and 
for  the  luxury  of  a  daily  bellyful  of  pork  and 
pudding,  and  a  nightly  bed  in  the  loft. 

Voltaire  went  out  to  the  stable.  The  six  white 
horses  of  famous  Lincolnshire  stock  stood,  three 
on  this  side,  three  on  that.  Their  long  tails  oc- 
casionally switched  to  knock  off  the  languid  last 
flies  of  summer. 

Voltaire  stopped  at  the  coach-house  door  to 
drive  out  a  noisy  regiment  of  chickens.  A  lum- 
bering old  coach,  of  the  leathern  conveniency 
order,  was  shoved  away  in  a  corner.  There  is 
always  such  a  vehicle  in  every  old  family  stable, — 
a  stranded  ark,  that  no  horse-power  will  ever  stir 
again. 

"  Nineteen   year  ago,"   thought    the    ancient 


246  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Brothertoft  retainer,  "  nineteen  year  ago  last 
June,  I  drew  Mister  Edwin  and  that  Billop  gal, 
in  that  conveniency,  less  than  two  hundred  yards 
from  her  house  in  Wall  Street  to  Trinity  Church, 
to  be  married.  I  heerd  the  Trinity  bells  say, 
'  Edwin  Brothertoft,  don't  marry  a  Billop ! ' 
I  felt  it  in  my  bones  that  she  'd  turn  out  mean. 
Her  money  brought  worse  luck  than  we  'd  ever 
had  before.  And  the  good  luck  has  n't  got  holt 
yet." 

"  Plato,"  says  he,  stepping  into  the  great  pic- 
turesque stable,  half  full  of  sunshine,  half  of 
shade,  and  half  of  hay,  fragrant  as  the  Fourth 
of  July. 

"  Sir ! "  says  Plato,  drawing  himself  up,  and 
giving  a  military  salute.  He  had  seen  much 
soldiering  going  on  of  late,  and  liked  to  play  at 
it,  —  a  relic,  perhaps,  of  Gorilla  imitativeness. 

"  Them  boys  don't  look  to  me  in  good  health." 

Voltaire  pointed  to  Bilsby  and  mate.  They 
were  both  chewing  straws,  —  a  pair  of  dull  sharps, 
like  most  young  clodhoppers.  They  could  tell  a 
calf  from  a  colt  with  supernatural  keenness ;  but 
were  of  the  class  which  gets  itself  well  Peter- 
Funked  before  its  manhood  learns  the  time  of 
day. 

"  Dey  's  fat,  ragged,  and  sassy  as  ary  boys  dis 
qhile  ever  seed,"  rejoined  Plato. 

"  Bery  weakly  dey  looks,"  continued  the  con- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  247 

spirator.  "  Fallin'  away  horrible !  Neber  see 
sich  sickly  boys  'n  all  my  born  days.  Chestnuts 
is  what  dcy  wants.  Worms  is  de  trouble.  Boys 
always  gits  worms  onless  dey  eats  suthin  on  to 
a  bushel  of  chestnuts  in  de  fall." 

The  two  ragamuffins  dropped  their  straws, 
turned  pale,  and  began  to  feel  snakes  wake  and 
crawl  within  them. 

"  Now,  boys,"  says  Voltaire  impressively,  "  if 
you  want  tor  perwent  dem  varmint,  jess  you 
put  fur  de  woods  an'  fill  yourselves  plum  full 
ob  chestnuts." 

"  But  chestnuts  has  worms,  too,"  objected 
Bilsby. 

"  So  much  de  better ;  dey  '11  eat  yourn.  Go 
'long  now.  Stay  hum  to-night,  and  don't  come 
roun'  here  fore  to-morrow  noon.  Be  keerfle 
now !  Eat  all  to-day ;  and  pick  to-morrow  to 
keep.  You  don't  look  to  me  like  boys  who  is 
prepared  to  die." 

The  pair  obeyed,  and  departed  solemnly.  Noth- 
ing but  chestnuts  could  save  them  from  the  worm 
that  never  dieth.  There  were  two  very  grave 
and  earnest  lads  that  day  cracking  burrs  in  the 
groves  of  Brothertoft  Manor. 

Plato  stared  in  consternation  as  he  saw  his 
regiment  disbanded. 

Voltaire  winked  with  both  eyes,  and  chuckled 
enormously. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 


"  Don't  you  ask  me  no  questions,  Plato,"  says 
he,  "  an'  you  wont  have  no  lies  to  complex  yer 
mind.  I  meant  to  clare  de  kitchen,  ole  fokes, 
young  fokes,  an  so  I  scared  off  dem  boys,  ho,  ho  ! 
Now  I  's  gwine  to  gib  you  a  conundrum,  Plato." 

Plato  let  go  Volante's  tail,  which  he  was  comb- 
ing, and  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  What  does  a  young  lady  do  when  she  don't 
want  to  marry  her  fust  husband  ?  " 

"  Marries  her  second,"  guessed  Plato,  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Plato  !  I  'se  ashamed  of  you.  Dat  would 
be  bigamy." 

The  crestfallen  groom  gave  it  up. 

"  You  gib  it  up,"  says  the  propounder. 
"  Well  ;  she  says  to  her  coachman,  —  it  's  bery 
mysterous  dat  de  coachman's  name  is  Plato. 
She  says  to  him,  Plato  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  interjected  the  other. 

"  Neber  interrump  de  speaker  !  "  chided  Vol- 
taire. "  She  says,  '  Plato,  you  know  my  mare.' 
Says  he,  '  Your  mare  Yolanty,  Miss  ?  '  Says  she,  — 
it's  mysterous,  but  Volanty  is  her  name,  —  '  Now, 
Plato,  you  jess  poot  anudder  oat  in  her  manger, 
an  groom  her  slick  as  a  het  griddle,  and  see 
de  girts  and  de  bridle  is  right.'  And  says  she, 
'  Plato,  don't  you  complex  yer  mind  wedder  de 
answer  to  dat  conundrum  ain't  suthin'  about 
runnin'  away.  But  jess  you  wait  till  de  sebben 
seal  is  opened." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.       ,  249 

Here  the  namesake  of  him  of  Ferney  gave 
a  wise  binocular  wink. 

The  other  philosopher's  namesake  also  eclipsed 
his  whites  with  a  binocular  wink.  He  divined 
where  his  sire  had  been  travelling  in  the  past 
thirty-six  hours.  He  had  nodded  through  the 
watches  of  last  night  to  let  the  senior  in  un- 
discovered. He  knew  of  the  interview  with  Old 
Sam  Galsworthy  and  Hendrecus  Canady,  an  hour 
before  sunrise.  He  comprehended  enough  of 
the  plot  to  enjoy  it  as  a  magnificent  conun- 
drum, which  he  could  guess  at  all  day,  sure 
that  the  seven  seals  of  mystery  would  be  opened, 
by  and  by. 

Voltaire  limped  back  to  the  house  and  his 
pantry.  His  butler  countenance  fell,  as  he  con- 
templated the  empty  bottles  of  yesterday's  ban- 
quet. He  could  almost  have  wept  them  full, 
if  he  had  known  any  chemistry  to  change  salt 
tears  to  wine. 

"  How  those  redcoats  drink ! "   he  muttered. 
"  Our  cellar  wont  last   many  more  such  cam- 
paigns.     I   must  get   up   some  fresh  wine   for 
to-day,  and  a  little  brandy  to  deteriorate  Majv 
Kerr." 

Burns  wrote  poetry  as  he  pleased,  in  Scohni, 

in    English,   or   in    a    United-Kingdom    broguo. 

Voltaire  takes  the  same  liberty,  and  talks  ir  «v 

tank   Tombigbee,  now    severe    Continental,  ami 

11* 


250  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

now  a  lingo  of  his  own.  Most  men  arc  equally 
inconsistent,  and  use  one  slang  in  the  saloon 
and  another  in  the  salon. 

Voltaire  lighted  a  candle,  and  descended  into 
the  cellar. 

"  It  's  resky,"  thought  he,  "  to  bring  a  light, 
without  a  lantern,  among  all  this  straw  and 
rubbish.  Fire  would  n't  let  go,  if  it  once  cotched 
here.  But  nobody  ever  comes  except  me." 

A  flaring  dip,  very  free  with  sparks,  was  cer- 
tainly dangerous  in  this  den.  Who  has  not 
seen  such  a  tinder-box  of  a  place  under  a  care- 
less old  country-house  ?  Capital  but  awesome 
regions  they  offer  for  juvenile  hide  and  seek ! 
How  densely  their  black  corners  are  populated 
with  Bugaboo !  The  hider  and  the  seeker  shud- 
der alike  in  those  gloomy  caverns,  and  are  glad 
enough  to  find  each  other,  touch  hands  and 
bolt  for  daylight. 

Habit,  or  possibly  his  complexion  in  harmony 
with  dusky  hues,  made  Voltaire  independent 
of  the  terrors  of  the  place.  He  marched  along, 
carefully  sheltering  his  candle  with  a  big  paw, 
brown  on  the  back  and  red  on  the  palm. 

Combustibles  were  faintly  visible  in  the  glim- 
mer. There  were  empty  wine-boxes  overflow- 
ing with  the  straw  that  once  swaddled  their 
bottles.  There  was  a  barrel  of  curly  shavings, 
a  barrel  of  rags  quite  limp  and  out  of  curl,  a 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT,  251 

barrel  of  fine  flour  from  the  Phillipse  Mills,  a 
barrel  of  apples  very  fragrant,  one  of  onions 
very  odorous,  a  barrel  of  turnips  white  and 
shapely,  and  a  bin  of  potatoes,  of  the  earth, 
earthy,  and  amorphous  as  clods.  There  were 
the  staves  and  hoops  of  a  rotten  old  beer-cask, 
leaning  together,  and  trying  to  hold  each  other 
up,  like  the  decayed  members  of  a  dead  fac- 
tion. There  was  a  ciderless  cider-cask,  begin- 
ning to  gape  at  the  seams,  like  a  barge  out 
of  water.  Rubbish  had  certainly  called  a  con- 
gress in  this  cellar,  and  the  entire  rubbish  in- 
terest in  all  its  departments  had  sent  deputies. 
Old  furniture  had  a  corner  to  itself,  and  it  was 
melancholy  to  see  there  the  bottomless  chairs 
that  people  long  dead  had  sat  through,  the 
posts  of  old  bedsteads  sleeping  higgledy-piggledy, 
and  old  tables  that  had  seen  too  many  revels  in 
their  day.  and  were  tipsily  trying  to  tumble 
under  themselves.  Then  there  was  a  heap  of 
old  clothes  and  ole  clo',  ghostly  in  their  forlorn- 
ness,  lifting  up  arms  and  holding  forth  skirts  in 
vain  signal  for  the  ragman.  It  was  a  gloomy, 
musty,  cavernous  place,  and  Voltaire's  faint 
candle  only  shed  a  little  shady  light  around. 

The  butler  unlocked  the  wine-room  door. 
Batteries  of  dusty  bottles  in  their  casemates 
aimed  at  him,  with  flashes  of  yellow-seal  at 
their  niuzzlos. 


252  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Three  bottles  for  Major  Kerr,  —  his  lust," 
he  said.  "  One,  very  particular,  for  Major  Sker- 
rett  when  he  comes.  One  of  our  French  Gutter 
de  Rosy  brandy  to  qualify  with.  Ranks  looks 
broken  here  since  Major  Kerr  come.  I  must 
close  'em  up  to-morrow.  Bottles  likes  to  lie 
touchin',  so  the  wine  can  ripen  all  alike." 

The  old  fellow's  hands  were  so  full  that  he 
could  not  lock  his  door  conveniently.  He  left  it 
open  for  his  next  visit  of  reorganization. 

He  limped  off,  running  the  gauntlet  of  the 
combustibles.  No  spark  flew,  no  cinder  fell. 
That  masterful  plaything,  fire,  could  not  be 
allowed  to  sport  with  the  old  rubbish. 

How  Voltaire  proceeded  to  carry  on  his  pri- 
vate share  of  the  plot  by  deteriorating  Kerr's 
allowance  of  Madeira  with  Cognac,  is  a  secret  of 
the  butler's  pantry.  It  shall  not  be  here  re- 
vealed. Why  deteriorate  the  morals  of  1860  by 
recalling  forgotten  methods  of  cheating  ?  Adul- 
teration is  a  lost  art,  thank  Bacchus  !  We  drink 
only  pure  juices  now.  Only  honest  wines  for 
our  honest  dollars  in  this  honest  age. 

Now  from  the  cellar  we  will  mount  to  the 
room  above  stairs,  where  Penelope  and  her 
inaids  —  no,  not  Penelope,  for  she  was  loyal  and 
disconsolate  —  where  Mrs.  Brothertoft  and  her 
maids  are  at  work  at  the  san-benito  for  to- 
morrow's auio-da-fS. 


VIII. 

IF  there  was  a  Dieden  in  1777,  she  has  gone 
with  the  braves  who  lived  before  Agamemnon, 
and  like  them  is  forgotten. 

If  there  had  been  a  Dieden  in  little  New  York 
of  those  days,  she  would  not  have  been  called  in 
to  make  Miss  Brothertoft's  san-benito,  her  wed- 
ding-dress. 

The  resources  of  the  Manor  were  sufficient. 
Mrs.  Brothertoft  could  plan  the  robe.  Mrs.  De- 
witt  could  execute  it.  Sally  Bilsby  also  lent  a 
'prentice  hand.  The  silk,  white,  stiff,  and  with  a 
distinct  bridal  rustle,  had  been  bought  to  order 
by  Bilsby  junior,  on  one  of  his  traitorous  trips 
to  New  York. 

Lucy,  leaving  Voltaire  in  the  pantry,  as  was 
described,  ran  up  stairs  and  faced  her  wedding- 
dress  without  flinching.  It  is  not  generally  a 
sight  to  blanch  the  cheeks  of  a  young  lady. 
Indeed,  one  may  fancy  that  a  rose  finer  than 
roses  might  bud  in  the  heart,  and  bloom  from 
neck  to  forehead,  when  a  bride  first  beheld  the 
lily-white  drapery  of  her  hour  of  immolation. 


254  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Lucy  neither  blanched  nor  blushed. 

"  Be  brave  !  be  prudent !  "  the  warning  of  her 
unseen  protector  was  ringing  in  her  ears.  She 
saw  it,  inscribed  on  a  label,  and  hanging  from 
the  lips  of  her  vision  of  his  face.  The  brave  do 
not  blanch.  The  prudent  do  not  blush.  So  she 
quietly  joined  the  busy  circle,  took  a  needle  and 
stabbed  the  wedding-dress  without  mercy. 

It  was  a  monstrous  relief  thus  to  kill  time. 
She  did  herself,  for  the  hour,  "  her  quietus  make 
with  a  bare  bodkin,"  and  the  other  weapons  of 
a  modiste. 

"  Stitch,  stitch,  stitch !     Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band ! " 

"  Ah  !  "  she  thought,  "  what  a  blessing  is  this 
distraction  of  labor  !  I  have  shed  my  tears.  If 
I  were  to  sit  inactive,  I  might  brood  myself 
into  despair.  If  I  were  to  think  over  my 
wrong,  I  might  flame  out  too  soon.  If  I  look 
at  my  mother,  I  begin  to  dread  her  again.  I 
know  she  could  master  me  still.  0  my  God ! 
sustain  me  through  these  last  hours  of  my  peril ! 
I  never  knew  how  great  it  was  until  now.  I 
foresaw  a  misery  ;  but  the  degradation  of  giving 
myself  up  to  this  man,  I  never  even  dreamed 
of.  I  am  ashamed,  ashamed  to  recall  that  there 
have  been  instants  when  I  tolerated  him,  —  when 
I  thought  that  he  was  not  so  very  gross  and 
coarse,  1  pray  God  that  the  sacredness  of  my 
soul  is  not  spoilt*" 


EDWIN-  BROTIIERTOFT.  255 

A  great  agony  stirred  in  her  maidenly  bosom 
at  this  thought.  She  bent  closer  to  her  work. 
She  knew  that  her  mother's  eyes  were  upon  her. 
She  heard,  without  marking,  the  tattle  of  the 
maids. 

"  Fly,  little  needle ! "  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Measure  off  this  pause  in  my  life !  Every 
stitch  is  a  second.  Sixty  are  a  minute.  Min- 
utes make  hours,  and  hours  wear  out  the  weary 
day.  Evening  must  come.  If  I  can  but  be 
brave  and  prudent,  I  shall  see  my  father  and  his 
noble  friend,  and  be  safe." 

Her  needle  galloped  at  the  excitement  of  the 
thought. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  looked  at  her,  and  said  to  her 
heart,  with  a  sneer,  —  "  Pretty  creature  !  she  con- 
soles  herself,  it  seems.  Our  boozy,  rubicund 
bridegroom  begins  to  look  quite  pale  and  inter- 
esting, seen  through  a  bridal  veil.  The  touch  of 
white  silk  cures  her  scruples  easily.  Ah !  the 
blushing  bride  will  be  resigned  to  her  bliss. 
Bah !  that  I  —  I  should  dread  such  a  pretty, 
silly  trifler !  What  a  fool  I  was  to  think  her 
different  from  other  simpering  girls  !  So,  this  is 
the  meaning  of  all  her  coy  little  wiles  and  her 
headaches.  Headaches !  she  may  have  as  many 
as  she  pleases  now,  in  her  pensive  bower.  Ah ! 
I  comprehend  thec  now,  fair  hypocrite.  The 
slender  fingers  are  impatient  for  the  ring.  Fly, 


256  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

little  bird,  to  the  bosom  of  thy  spouse.  Perhaps 
he  will  not  quite  crush  thy  poor,  silly  heart. 
And  I  have  been  afraid  of  her  !  She  is  so  tickled 
with  her  wedding  favors,  that  she  will  presently 
be  kissing  me  again  for  gratitude  with  more 
fervor  than  ever.  But  I  am  sick  of  her  sim- 
plicity. I  am  tired  of  her  '  Dearest  mammas  ! ' 
I  should  strangle  her,  I  dare  say,  if  she  were 
not  taken  off.  She  grows  more  like  that  Edwin 
Brothcrtoft  lately." 

"  Your  dress  is  ready  to  try  on,  Miss  Lucy," 
said  Mrs.  Jierck  Dewitt. 

So  there  was  a  mighty  rustle,  and  a  headless, 
armless  torso  of  stiff  white  silk  rose  up  and  stood 
on  its  skirt.  It  did  Dewitt  great  credit.  Ah ! 
if  her  character  had  only  been  equal  to  her  skill ! 
But  she  was  a  brazen  hussy,  and  Sally,  her  sister, 
no  better.  Tel  maitre,  tel  valet.  One  positively 
bad  woman  spoils  many  negatively  bad  ones.  It 
would  not  seem  at  all  unfair  if  Destiny  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  harm  done  Jierck  Dewitt's  wife 
in  punishing  the  lady  of  the  Manor  through  her 
means. 

Lucy  still  faced  her  wedding-dress  without 
flinching.  She  may  even  have  thought  that,  if 
the  worst  came,  it  was  better  to  go  to  the  guil- 
lotine in  becoming  array.  It  is  perhaps  woman 
to  say,  "  My  heart  is  broken ;  but  my  bodice  fits 
without  a  fold." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  257 

It  is  woman,  no  doubt,  but  there  are  women 
and  Women.  Lucy  could  safely  admire  the  robe, 
and  tranquilly  criticise  it,  because  she  knew  that 
she  and  it  were  not  to  see  marriage  together. 

"  Now  shall  I  unlace  you,  Miss  Lucy  ?  "  says 
the  abigail. 

Yes,  abigail ;  as  soon  as  these  masculine  eyes, 
whose  business  is  with  the  young  lady's  soul, 
not  with  her  toilette,  can  take  themselves  dec- 
orously out  of  the  room. 


IX. 

NOMBRE  de  Dieden !  what  a  fit ! 

Unlacing  and  relacing  concluded,  these  mas- 
culine eyes,  again  admitted  to  the  maiden's  bower, 
are  dazzled  with  unexpected  loveliness. 

There  stands  the  lady,  within  the  perfect 
dress ! ! !  beautiful  to  three  points  of  admiration. 
Sweet  eighteen  can  bear  low  neck  by  broad  day- 
light. 

The  struggle  in  her  heart  with  all  her  wild 
emotions  of  terror  and  hope  was  as  great  a 
beautifier  as  the  presence  of  critical  wedding- 
guests,  the  rustle  of  a  surplice,  the  electric  touch 
of  a  gay  gold  ring,  and  the  first  clasp  of  the  hand 
of  a  husband. 

And  you,  0  Peter  Skerrett !  you  have  shaved 
off  your  moustache  and  donned  a  coat  much  too 
small,  —  you  have  made  a  guy  of  yourself  for 
your  first  interview  with  this  angel ! 

Shall  the  personal  impression  she  may  already 
have  made  be  here  revised  and  corrected  ?  No  ; 
for  this  is  not  real  sunshine  upon  her.  If  she  is 
ever  photographed,  it  shall  be  in  her  bright,  not 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  259 

in  her  dark  day.  Let  her  wait  till  fuller  ma- 
turity for  description !  It  is  easy  to  see  the 
Brothertoft  in  her.  She  blends  the  tender  grace 
of  the  lady  in  Vandyck's  picture  with  the  quiet 
dignity  of  the  gentleman.  But  is  there  not  kin- 
dling in  her  face  the  vigor  of  another  race,  her 
mother's?  Perhaps  a  portrait  now  would  belie 
her  final  look. 

"  You  are  like  an  angel,  Miss  Lucy,"  said  Mrs. 
Dewitt. 

She  was.  She  stood  there  in  bridal  robe,  veil, 
and  wreath.  Her  hands  were  clasped  firm  to 
control  her  insurgent  heart.  Her  lips  were 
parted,  and  she  was  whispering  to  herself,  "  Be 
brave  !  Be  prudent !  "  Her  eyes  overlooked  the 
present,  and  saw  hope  in  the  blue  sky  above  the 
golden  Highlands  through  her  window. 

Yes ;  like  an  angel. 

There  was  a  hush  for  a  moment.  The  three 
bad  women  —  the  pert  hoyden,  the  false  wife,  and 
the  proud  mistress  of  the  Manor  —  were  silenced 
and  abashed. 

Again  the  old  pang  stirred  in  the  mother's  bosom. 
Again  she  longed  to  throw  herself  at  her  daugh- 
ter's feet  and  pray  forgiveness.  But  again  she 
gained  that  defeat  of  a  victory  over  her  woman- 
liness. She  trampled  down  the  weakness  of  re- 
pentance. The  bedlam  look  flickered  over  her 
features,  and  she  hardly  restrained  her  furious 


200  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

impulse  to  leap  forward  and  rend  the  innocent 
face  and  the  maiden  bosom  that  so  shamed  her. 

"  You  do  look  just  like  an  angel,  Miss  Lucy," 
Abby  Dewitt  asseverated,  with  the  air  of  a  con- 
naisseuse  in  the  article.  "  Don't  she,  Sally  ?  " 

The  two  thereupon  gave  tongue  to  voluble 
flatteries. 

"  Your  work  does  you  great  credit,  Dewitt," 
Lucy  said.  "  Mamma,  cannot  we  spare  Abby 
and  Sally  to  go  home  to  the  farm  to-night? 
They  deserve  a  holiday  after  this  long  confine- 
ment. And  to-morrow  will  be  a  busy  day  again." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  if  they  wish  it."  Mrs. 
Brothertoft  was  glad  to  put  her  daughter  tinder 
obligation. 

The  women  again  gave  tongue  with  thanks. 
They  were  always,  as  Voltaire  had  said,  ready  to 
get  away  for  a  frolic.  Lucy  smiled  to  herself  at 
the  easy  success  of  her  stratagem.  She  had 
packed  off  baggage  and  baggage,  without  sus- 
picion. 

"  What  a  conspirator  I  am  becoming !  "  she 
thought.  "  Ah  !  silly  Lucy,  the  child,  the  thing 
to  be  flung  away !  She  too  can  help  baffle  the 
evil  schemes  against  herself.  When  these  coarse 
women  are  gone,  there  will  be  not  a  soul  but 
friends  within  a  mile  of  the  house." 

Dinner  was  tardy  to-day,  after  the  late  break 
fast  following  the  revel. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  261 

Nine-oxygen  azote  by  the  lung-full  had  given 
tone  to  Major  Kerr's  system.  His  appetite  for 
meat  and  drink  were  in  full  force  again,  all  the 
stouter  for  this  morning's  respite. 

"  What  a  lucky  dog  I  am,"  he  said,  "  to  dodge 
that  expedition  of  Vaughan's !  I  'm  '  the  soldier 
tired  of  war's  alarms,'  Miss  Lucy." 

"  You  do  not  care  about  laurels  any  more," 
Mrs.  Brothertoft  said,  with  her  half-sneer. 

"  Not  when  I  can  get  roses." 

His  look  with  this  brought  fire  into  Lucy's 
cheeks. 

"  No,"  resumed  he  ;  "  I  should  be  glad  enough 
to  help  burn  the  dashed  rebels'  houses  over  their 
heads,  and  them,  too,  in  their  beds.  Here 's  con- 
fusion to  'em,  -and  luck  to  Jack  Burgoyne !  I 
hate  the  vulgar  '  varmint.'  But  I  don't  want  to 
leave  a  good  dinner  to  see  bonfires.  I  know 
where  I'm  well  off,  and  going  to  be  better. 
Eh,  Miss  Lucy  ?  " 

Her  heart  began  to  throb  and  her  head  to 
ache  at  once. 

"  This  goose  has  got  a  bark  on  thick  as  an 
oak-tree,"  continued  the  valiant  trencherman, 
making  an  incision.  "  Give  me  another  cut  of 
beef,  —  the  red,  with  plenty  of  fat  and  plenty  of 
gravy,  if  you  please,  my  mamma  that  shall  be. 
I  need  support  when  the  parson  opens  his  bat- 
teries to-morrow.  Eh,  Miss  Lucy  ?  '  With  this 


262  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

ring  thce  I  wed,  and  with  all  my  worldly  — ' 
Hain't  got  any  goods.  I  '11  endow  you  with  all 
my  worldly  debts,  and  tell  the  Jews  to  shift 
the  security.  Haw,  haw !  " 

He  laughed  boisterously. 

This  coarse  paean  stirred  up  echoes  of  repul- 
sion in  Lucy's  heart. 

How  she  longed  to  fling  defiance  at  him  J 
Patience,  —  she  almost  bit  the  word  in  two,  with 
her  teeth  set  hard  upon  it.  One  rash  expres- 
sion would  be  ruin ;  but  great  red-hot  shot  of 
scorn  burned  within  her.  She  discovered  that 
there  was  strong  language  in  her  vocabulary. 
It  grew  significant  to  her  now.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  half  understand  herself  at  last.  When 
the  boiler  grows  hot,  the  water  feels  its  latent 
steam. 

"  Am  I  the  same  being  ?  "  she  thought.  "  Am 
I  the  meek  Consent  I  have  pitied  and  wept  with 
so  long  ?  No,  I  have  ceased  to  be  a  spiritless  no- 
body. I  am  almost  sorry  that  help  from  without 
is  coming  to  me.  I  should  like  to  stand  up  now 
and  say, '  Madam,  of  you  as  a  woman  I  will  not 
speak,  —  as  a  mother,  you  are  a  tyrant,  and  I 
defy  you.  I  defy  you  and  this  brute,  not  half  so 
base  as  you,  whom  you  have  dared  to  name  by 
the  sacred  name  of  lover,  whom  you  have  called 
in  to  aid  you  in  dishonoring  your  child.'  Yes ; 
I  could  almost  say  that  to  her  now.  Is  it  pos- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  263 

sible  ?  Is  it  possible  that  a  woman  can  so  hate  a 
woman  ?  I  never  felt  what  the  sanctity  of  my 
womanhood  was  until  now,  —  now  that  I  per- 
ceive this  miserable  plot  against  it." 

This  defiant  mood  was  strong  within  her. 
But  presently,  as  she  looked  at  Kerr,  growing 
redder  with  too  much  dinner  and  too  much 
wine,  laughing  at  his  own  coarse  jokes  and 
throwing  at  her  with  great  vulgar  compliments  ; 
and  when  all  at  once,  in  contrast,  rose  the  figure 
of  the  other  Major  as  she  had  painted  him, — 
disgust  so  mastered  her  that  she  sprang  up, 
pleaded  a  headache,  and  fled  to  her  chamber,  to 
wait  and  hope  and  doubt  and  pray  alone. 

"  Megrims  again,"  said  the  lover,  sulkily,  as 
she  disappeared.  "  I  don't  like  it.  She  did  n't 
run  away  from  Jack  Andrd  yesterday." 

"  0,  let  her  amuse  herself  with  headaches,  if 
she  pleases,"  said  the  Lady  of  the  Manor.  "  I 
understand  the  child.  I  saw  her  this  morning 
over  her  wedding-dress.  She  is  as  eager  for 
the  happy  moment  as  any  lover  could  wish." 

'•*  So  you  think  she  shams  coy  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brothertoft;  and  she  was 
willing  to  believe  it. 

"  Well,  good  night,  pretty  creature !  Let  it 
go  up  stairs  and  think  how  sweet  it  will  look 
to-morrow  in  its  silks  and  laces !  What,  are  you 
going  too,  my  mamma  ?  " 


264  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Yes.  Take  your  glass  of  wine  quietly.  "We 
will  have  supper  late.  I  am  going  to  doze  a 
little  in  the  parlor.  I  dreamed  troublesome 
dreams  last  night." 

"  By  George ! "  said  Kerr,  as  she  closed  the 
door.  "  Splendid  woman !  Twice  as  handsome 
as  the  Duchess  of  Gurgoyle !  I  suppose  she 
thinks  the  Kerrs  will  take  her  up  when  she 
goes  to  England.  No,  ma'am !  We  can  't  quite 
stand  that.  You  Ve  got  all  you  can  expect  out 
of  me  when  you  Ve  married  off  your  daughter 
on  me.  Now,  then,  it 's  going  to  be  solemn  busi- 
ness, drinking  alone." 


X. 


PLOT  and  counterplot  at  Brothertoft  Manor. 
And  meantime,  what  has  counterplot  without  the 
house  been  doing  ? 

If  Edwin  Brothertoft  and  Peter  Skerrett  could 
have  travelled  by  daylight  through  the  High- 
lands, then  this  narrative,  marching  with  them, 
might  have  seen  what  fine  things  they  saw,  and 
told  of  them.  But  they  went  cautiously  by 
night.  They  saw  little  but  the  stars  overhead 
and  the  faint  traces  of  their  shy  path.  They 
were  not  distracted  by  grand  views.  Nature  is  a 
mere  impertinence  to  men  who  are  filled  with  a 
purpose.  Fortunately,  these  intense  purposes  do 
not  last  a  lifetime.  Minds  become  disengaged, 
and  then  they  go  back,  and  make  apologies  to 
Nature  for  not  admiring  her.  And  she,  minding 
her  own  business,  cares  as  little  for  the  compli- 
ment as  for  the  slight. 

It  is  a  bit  of  the  world  worth  seeing,  that 

bossy    belt    of   latitude    between    Fishkill    and 

Brothertoft   Manor.     There   is   a   very  splendid 

pageant  to  behold  there  in  the  halcyon  days  of 

12 


266  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

October,  the  ruddy,  the  purple,  the  golden,  when 
every  tree  is  a  flame,  or  a  blush,  or  a  dash  of 
blood  or  deep  winy  crimson  on  the  gray  rocks  of 
the  mountains.  The  Hudson  Highlands  do  not 
wrangle  about  height  with  the  Alps ;  but  they 
content  themselves  with  wearing  a  more  gor- 
geous autumn  on  their  backs  than  any  mountains 
011  the  globe.  Go  and  see !  Frost  paints  as 
bravely  now  as  it  did  in  1777,  and  it  is  safer  to 
travel.  Bellona  has  decamped  from  the  land, 
and  half-way  from  Fishkill  down  the  pass,  Mi- 
nerva, fair-haired,  contralto-voiced,  and  cour- 
teous, keeps  school  and  presides  over  the  sixty- 
third  milestone  from  New  York.  Go  and  see 
the  Highlands  for  yourself!  The  business  of 
these  pages  is  mainly  with  what  hearts  suffer  and 
become  under  pressure,  little  with  what  eyes 
survey. 

Danger  is  safety  to  the  prudent.  Major  Sker- 
rett  and  his  guide  made  their  perilous  journey 
without  mishap.  At  the  chilly  dawn  of  day,  we 
find  them  at  the  rendezvous  in  the  hills  behind 
Peekskill,  trying  to  believe  that  there  was  warmth 
iii  the  warm  colors  of  the  woods,  and  waiting  for 
Jierck  Dewitt. 

Presently  he  appeared,  in  high  spirits. 

"  We  've  come  iii  the  nick  of  time,"  said  he. 
"  The  redcoats  have  done  all  the  harm  they  could 
about  here.  They  've  drawed  in  every  man,  and 


EDWIH   BROTHERTOFT.  267 

are  off  at  sunrise  up  river  for  Kingston.  They 
allow,  if  they  set  a  few  towns  afire,  that  General 
Gates  will  turn  his  back  to  Burgoyne  and  take 
to  passin'  buckets," 

"  Bang !  "  here  spoke  the  sunrise  gun  at  Fort 
Montgomery. 

"  Bang !  bang !  bang !  "  the  three  frigates  re- 
sponded. 

Dunderberg  grumbled  with  loud  echoes.  He 
was  pleased  to  be  awaked  by  the  song  of  birds ; 
but  the  victorious  noise  of  British  cannon  he 
protested  against,  like  a  good  American. 

"  The  coast  is  clear  for  us,"  resumed  Jierck. 
"  Clear  almost  as  if  these  were  peace  times. 
Now  if  you'll  come  along,  I'll  take  you  to  a 
safe  den  in  the  woods,  a  mile  from  the  Manor- 
House,  where  you  can  stay  all  day,  snug  as  a 
chipmunk  in  a  chestnut  stump,  and  see  how  the 
land  lies.  I  '11  tell  you  my  other  news  as  we 
go." 

They  took  up  their  guns  and  knapsacks  and 
followed.  The  light  of  morning  was  fair  and 
tender.  The  autumn  colors  were  exhilarating. 
"White  frost  shone  upon  the  slopes  and  glim- 
mered upon  every  leaf  in  the  groves. 

These  were  the  Manor  lands.  Each  spot  Ed- 
win Brothertoft  remembered  as  a  scene  of  his 
childhood's  discoveries  of  facts  and  mysteries 
in  Nature.  They  walked  on  for  an  hour,  and 


268  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Brothertoft  grew  almost  gay  with  memories  of 
his  youth. 

"Do  you  see  that  white  shining  through  the 
trees  ?  "  said  Jierck,  halting.  "  It 's  the  river. 
Ten  steps  and  you  '11  see  the  house.  Now,  Major, 
I  '11  go  and  look  after  my  boys,  and  come  at  noon 
for  your  orders." 

Jierck  turned  back  into  the  wood.  Major 
Skerrett  stepped  forward  eagerly.  He  had  an 
eye  for  a  landscape.  He  had  also  a  soldier's 
eye  for  every  new  bit  of  possible  battle-field. 

Ten  steps  brought  him  to  the  edge  of  the 
slope.  A  transcendent  prospect  suddenly  flun< 
out  its  colors  before  him.  First  was  a  stripe  of 
undulating  upland  thoroughly  Octobered.  Then 
a  stripe  of  river,  bending  like  a  belt  in  a  flag, 
that  a  breeze  is  twisting  between  its  finger 
Then  beyond,  Highlands,  not  so  glowing  as  th< 
foreground,  nor  so  sparkling  blue  as  the  blue 
water,  nor  so  simple  as  the  sky,  softly  combined 
and  repeated  all  the  elements  of  beauty  before 
him. 

He  turned  to  give  and  take  sympathy  from  his 
companion.  Mr.  Brothertoft  was  not  beside  him. 
He  had  seated  himself  within  cover  of  the  wood. 

"  Come  out,  sir !  "  called  Skerrett  with  enthu- 
siasm. "  I  am  so  bewildered  with  this  beautiful 
prospect  that  I  need  to  hear  another  man's  su- 
perlatives to  satisfy  me  I  am  not  in  a  dream. 
Come  out,  sir !  We  are  quite  safe." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.        ,  269 

"  My  friend,"  said  Brothertoft.  "  I  was  hesi- 
tating a  moment  before  I  risked  the  quenching 
of  my  strange  good  spirits.  You  are  looking 
upon  a  scene  that  has  been  very  dear  and  very 
sad  to  me.  I  cannot  see  it,  as  you  do,  with  a 
stranger's  eye.  It  is  to  me  the  scenery  of  trage- 
dy. I  cannot  tell  yet  whether  I  have  outgrown 
the  wound  enough  to  tolerate  the  place  where 
I  first  felt  it." 

He  moved  forward,  and  took  his  place  by  the 
Major's  side.  The  two  stood  silent  a  moment. 

Thus  far  the  younger,  in  his  robust  appetite  for 
the  beauty  of  Nature,  had  felt  "  no  need  of  the 
remoter  charm  by  thought  supplied."  Color  and 
form  he  took  as  a  hungry  child  takes  meat  and 
drink.  Now  for  the  first  time  there  was  history 
in  his  picture,  sorrow  upon  his  scene.  lie  made 
his  friend's  sadness  his  own,  and  looked  through 
this  melancholy  mist  at  the  gold,  the  sheen,  and 
the  bloom.  His  mere  physical  elation  at  this  in- 
toxicating revelry  of  color  passed  away.  Beauty 
left  his  head  and  went  to  his  heart. 

He  turned  to  see  how  his  companion  was 
affected. 

"  I  find,"  said  Brothertoft,  "  that  I  do  not  hate 
these  dear  old  scenes.  Indeed,  the  flush  and  the 
fervor  of  this  resplendent  season  enter  into  me. 
I  am  cheered  enough  to  pardon  myself  all  my 
faults,  and  all  who  have  wronged  me  for  their 


270  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

wrongs.  It  is  grand  to  feel  so  young  and  brave 
again." 

For  a  moment  there  was  bold  light  in  his  eyes 
and  vigor  in  his  bearing.  The  light  faded  pres- 
ently and  the  vigor  drooped.  He  was  again  the 
stricken  man,  aged  prematurely  by  sorrow. 

"  But,  my  son,"  continued  the  elder,  "  I  cannot 
quite  sustain  myself  in  this  cheerful  mood.  I 
look  at  my  forefathers'  house,  and  think  of  my 
daughter,  and  I  doubt." 

Skerrett  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes  and 
studied  the  Manor-House. 

It  stood  on  a  small  plateau,  half  a  mile  from 
the  river,  in  the  midst  of  its  broad  principality. 
There  was  not  such  another  house  then  in  Amer- 
ica. There  are  few  enough  now,  town  or  coun- 
try, cottage  or  palace,  over  whose  doors  may  be 
seen  the  unmistakable  cartouche  of  a  gentle- 
man. 

The  first  Edwin  Brothertoft  built  his  house 
after  the  model  of  the  dear  old  dilapidated  seat 
in  Lincolnshire.  It  was  only  one  fourth  the  size ; 
but  it  had  kept  the  grand  features  of  its  proto- 
type. Skerrett  could  see  and  admire  the  four 
quaint  gables,  two  front  and  two  rear,  the  sturdy 
stack  of  warm  chimneys,  and  the  corner  tower 
with  its  peaked  hat,  —  such  as  towers  built  in 
James  the  First's  time  wore.  It  bristled  well  in 
the  landscape. 


EDWIN   BROTHXETOFT.  271 

It  was  a  century  old.  That  must  bo  a  very 
unsociable  kind  of  house  which  will  not  make 
itself  at  home  in  the  space  of  a  century.  In  a 
hundred  years  the  Manor-House  and  buildings 
and  their  scenery  had  learnt  perfect  harmony 
with  each  other.  Wherever  trees  were  wanted 
for  shade  or  show,  they  had  had  time  to  choose 
their  post  and  grow  stately.  Those  stalks  which 
know  nothing  but  to  run  up  lank,  for  plank,  had 
long  been  felled  and  uprooted.  There  were  no 
awkward  squads  of  bushes,  stuck  about  where 
they  could  not  stand  at  ease ;  but  orderly  little 
companies  of  shrubbery  and  evergreens  had  nes- 
tled wherever  a  shelter  invited  them,  or  wherever 
a  shoulder  of  lawn  wanted  an  epaulet.  Creep- 
ers had  chosen  those  panels  of  wall  which  needed 
sheltering  from  heat  or  cold,  and  had  measured 
precisely  how  much  peering  into  windows  and 
drooping  over  doors  could  be  permitted.  The 
little  Dutch  bricks  of  the  sides  and  the  freestone 
of  the  quoins  and  trimmings,  their  coloring  re- 
vised by  the  pencils  of  a  hundred  quartettes  of 
seasons,  now  were  as  much  in  tone  with  the 
scene  as  the  indigenous  rocks  of  the  soil.  Ab- 
solute good  taste  had  reigned  at  Brothertoft 
Manor  for  a  century.  Its  results  justified  the 
government  thoroughly.  The  present  proprie- 
tress had  been  educated  out  of  her  gaiidy  fancies 
by  this  fine  example  of  the  success  of  a  better 


272  EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT. 

method.  She  had  altered  nothing,  and  made  her 
repairs  and  additions  chime  with  the  ancient 
harmony. 

At  this  moment,  too,  of  Peter  Skerrett's  in- 
spection, the  landscape  about  the  house  wore 
its  wealthiest  garniture.  Each  maple  in  the 
grounds  had  crimsoned  its  ruddiest,  or  purpled 
its  winiest,  or  gilded  its  leaves,  every  one  with 
a  film  of  burnished  gold.  The  elms  were  all  at 
their  gayest  yellow  or  their  warmest  brown,  and 
stiff  masculine  chestnuts  beside  them  rivalled 
their  tints,  if  they  could  not  their  grace.  Hero 
and  there  was  a  great  oak,  resolute  not  to 
adopt  these  new-fangled  splendors  of  gaudy  day, 
and  wearing  still  the  well-kept  coat  of  green 
which  had  served  him  all  summer.  Younger 
gentlemen  of  the  same  family,  however,  would 
not  be  behind  the  times,  and  stood  about  their 
ancestor  in  handsome  new  doublets  of  murrey 
color.  Every  slash  and  epaulet  of  shrubbery 
was  gold  on  the  green  of  the  lawn,  and  creep- 
ers blazed  on  the  walls  and  dropped  their  scarlet 
trailers,  like  flames,  before  the  windows. 

"  It  is  a  dear  old  dignified  place,"  said  Peter 
Skerrett,  "  and  I  wish  I  could  go  down  and 
make  a  quiet  call  there  by  daylight.  I  will, 
by  and  by,  after  the  war,  unless  the  rebels 
punish  it  with  fire  for  having  dined  Sir  Henry 
Clinton." 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  273 

"  It  is  a  dear  old  place,"  said  Brothertoft, 
"  and  I  love  it  most  dearly  as  the  school-house 
of  my  education  in  sorrow.  No  man  is  con- 
vinced of  his  own  immortality  until  his  soul 
has  borne  as  murderous  blows  as  can  be  struck, 
and  still  is  not  murdered.  I  come  to  the  place 
where  the  hardest  hitting  at  my  peace  has  been 
done,  and  I  feel  a  new  sense  of  power  because 
I  find  that  there  is  something  in  me  that  is 
not  quite  devastated.  On  the  old  battle-field, 
I  perceive  that  I  am  not  wholly  beaten,  and 
can  never  be." 

He  said  this  in  a  tone  of  soliloquy.  Peter 
Skerrett  was  too  young  to  thoroughly  under- 
stand his  friend.  Besides,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  frantic  hunger,  —  an  excellent  thing  in  a  hero. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  he,  "  shall  we  breakfast  ?  I 
have  remarked  that  swallowing  dawn  is  an  ap- 
petizer. Here  goes  at  my  knapsack,  to  see  what 
General  Putnam's  cook  has  done  for  us." 

The  cook  had  done  as  well  as  a  rebel  larder 
allowed.  They  did  well  by  the  viands,  and 
then,  under  cover  of  the  wood,  they  wore  away 
the  morning  watchfully. 

They  saw  boats  from  the  frigates  land  men  to 
be  drilled  ashore  or  to  forage  in  the  village  of 
Peekskill.  Here  and  there  a  farmer,  braver 
or  stupider  than  his  neighbors,  was  to  be  dis- 
cerned, ploughing  and  sowing  for  next  summer 
12*  B 


274  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

as  if  war  were  a  hundred  miles  away.  Carts 
appeared  creeping  timidly  along  the  country 
roads.  Tho  cattle  seemed  to  feed  cautiously 
and  sniff  about,  lest  Cowboys  should  catch  them. 
The  whole  scene  wore  a  depressed  and  appre- 
hensive air.  Brothertoft  Manor  was  willing  to 
be  well  with  both  sides,  and  was  equally  un- 
comfortable with  both.  The  tenants  of  the 
Manor  were  generally  trying  to  persuade  them- 
selves that  British  frigates  in  the  river  were 
merely  marts  for  their  eggs  and  chickens.  Men 
that  have  not  made  up  their  minds  are  but 
skulking  creatures  on  God's  earth. 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  Skerrett,  "  that  I  can 
tell  a  Tory  or  a  Neutral  as  far  as  I  can  see 
him." 

The  day  wore  on,  and  in  this  pause  of  action 
the  two  gentlemen  opened  their  hearts  to  each 
other. 

It  was  the  intercourse  of  father  and  son. 
Each  wanted  what  the  other  gave  him. 

The  fatherless  junior  felt  his  mind  grow  deeper 
with  a  man  who  had  touched  bottom  in  thought. 
He  was  sobered  and  softened  by  the  spectacle 
of  one  so  faithful  to  the  truth  that  was  in  him, 
so  gentle,  so  indulgent,  weakened  perhaps  by 
sorrow,  but  never  soured. 

The  sonless  senior  said.  "  Ah,  Skerrett !  you 
are  the  young  oak.  If  I  had  had  you  to  lean  upon, 


EDWIN  EROTIIERTOFT.  275 

I  should  not  have  lost  force  to  climb  and  bloom. 
Such  a  merry  heart  as  yours  makes  the  whole 
world  laugh,  —  not  empty  laughter,  but  hearty." 

At  noon  Jierck  Dewitt  came  to  report.  He 
and  the  boys  were  safely  hid  in  his  father's 
barn. 

"  Ike  mostly  sleeps,"  says  Jierck,  "  Sam  plays 
old  sledge  with  dummy,  and  Hendrecus  is  writin' 
something  in  short  lines  all  beginnin'  with  big 
letters,  poetry  perhaps.  lie  's  an  awful  great 
scholar." 

Their  plans  were  again  discussed,  and  orders 
issxied. 

"  Well,"  said  Jierck,  "  at  dusk  I  '11  have  my 
men,  and  father's  runt  pony  for  the  prisoner  to 
straddle,  down  at  the  forks  of  the  road  waitin' 
for  you.  Nothing  can  stop  us  now  but  one 
thing." 

"And  that?"  asked  the  Major. 

"  Is  Lady  Brothertoft.  If  she  suspicions  any- 
thing before  we  're  ready  to  run,  it  will  be  all 
up  with  us,  —  halter  round  our  necks  and  all 
up  among  the  acorns." 

So  Jierck,  still  "  stiff  as  the  Lord  Chancellor," 
and  yet  limber  as  a  snake  in  the  grass,  took 
his  departure. 

Afternoon  hours  went  slower  than  the  morn- 
ing hours. 

"  The  sun  always  seems  to  me  to  hold  back 


276  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

in  going  down  hill,"  Skerrett  said.  "  I  wish 
he  would  tumble  to  bed  faster.  I  am  impatient 
to  make  our  success  sure." 

"  Your  sturdy  confidence  reassures  me,"  re- 
turned Brothertoft.  "  I  am  happy  there  is  one 
of  us  whose  heart-beats  will  not  unsteady  him. 
I  lose  hope  when  I  think  what  failure  means  to 
my  daughter." 

"  I  must  keep  myself  the  cool  outsider,  with 
only  a  knight-errant's  share  in  this  adventure," 
Peter  said. 

A  hard  task  he  found  this  !  The  father  so 
charmed  him  that  he  felt  himself,  for  his  sake, 
taking  a  very  tender  fraternal  interest  in  the 
young  lady.  It  was  so  easy  to  picture  her  in 
her  chamber,  not  a  mile  away,  looking  tearfully 
for  help  toward  the  hills.  It  was  so  easy  to- 
fancy  her  face,  —  her  father's,  with  the  bloom 
of  youth  instead  of  the  shades  of  sorrow;  and 
her  character,  —  her  father's,  with  all  this  gen- 
tleness that  perhaps  weakened  him,  in  her  but 
sweet  womanliness.  Peter  Skerrett  perceived  to 
the  full  the  romance  of  the  adventure.  He 
frequently  felt  the  undeveloped  true  lover  in 
him  grow  restive.  He  thought  that  he  was  all 
the  time  putting  down  that  turbulent  personage. 
Perhaps  he  was.  But  it  must  be  avowed  that 
he  often  regretted  his  moustache,  despised  his 
ill-fitting  coat,  and  only  consoled  himself  by  re- 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  277 

calling,  "  It  will  be  niglit,  and  she  will  only  half 
see  me."  As  evening  approached,  Peter  Skerrett 
perceived  that  his  desire  to  redeem  this  fair 
victim  from  among  the  bad  and  the  base  was 
become  a  passion.  He  also  noticed  that  its  fervor 
kept  him  cool  and  steady. 

Silent  sunset  came.  The  crisis  drew  near. 
Doubts  began  to  curdle  in  Edwin  Brothertoft's 
mind.  He  looked  over  the  broad  landscape,  and 
along  the  solemn  horizon,  and  all  his  own  past 
spread  before  him,  sad-colored  and  dreary. 

"  Ah  my  beautiful  childhood ! "  he  thought. 
"  Ah  my  ardent  youth,  my  aspiring  manhood, 
my  defeated  prime !  My  life  utterly  defeated, 
as  the  world  measures  defeat,  —  and  all  through 
her !  All  through  her,  the  woman  I  loved  with 
iny  whole  heart !  Please  God  we  may  not  meet 
to-night  !  Please  Heaven  we  may  never  meet 
until  her  dark  hour  comes !  Please  Heaven  that 
when  the  loneliness  of  sin  comes  upon  her,  and 
the  misery  of  a  worse  defeat  than  any  I  have  felt 
is  hers,  —  that  then  at  last  I  may  be  ready  with 
such  words  of  pardon  as  she  needs !  " 

"  See !  "  said  Skerrett,  softly.  "  It  is  dark. 
There  is  a  light  in  your  daughter's  window.  We 
will  go  to  her." 

"  In  the  name  of  God !  "  said  the  father. 


XI. 

SCENE,  the  interior  of  Squire  Dewitt's  barn. 

Hay  at  the  sides,  hay  at  the  back,  and  great 
mountains  of  hay  rise  into  the  dusky  regions  of 
the  loft. 

In  the  centre  stands  Jierck  Pewitt,  just  re- 
turned from  his  noon  interview  with  Major  Sker- 
rett. 

At  the  left  sits  Ike  Van  Wart,  asleep,  with  his 
mouth  open.  Perhaps,  like  Voltaire,  he  hears 
partially  with  his  tonsils. 

On  the  right,  old  Sam  Galsworthy  is  killing 
time  with  old  sledge  for  a  weapon.  His  right 
hand  has  just  beaten  his  left  and  won  the 
stakes,  —  viz. :  twelve  oats. 

Hendrecus  Canady  stealthily  approaches  the 
gaping  sleeper  on  the  left.  He  holds  a  head 
of  timothy-grass,  —  in  these  times  of  war  wo 
perceive  that  it  is  a  good  model  for  a  cannon 
sponge.  Hendrecus  introduces  timothy's  head 
into  Van  Wart's  mouth,  and  begins  to  tickle  the 
tonsils  and  palate,  so  rosy. 

To  these  enters  pretty  Katy  Dewitt,  blushing 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  279 

and  smiling.  Fragrance  comes  with  her;  and 
well  it  may,  for  she  bears  dinner,  —  a  deep  yel- 
low dish  of  pork  and  beans  and  a  pumpkin-pie 
exquisitely  varnished. 

Tender-hearted  Jierck  Dewitt  at  once  remem- 
bered the  wife  who  in  happier  days  crisped  his 
pork  and  sweetened  his  pie. 

Hendrecus  dropped  his  tickler  into  Yan  Wart, 
and  sprang  up  to  help  his  sweetheart.  Her 
pretty  smiles  stirred  happy  smiles  on  his  face,  — 
a  bright  and  good-humored  one,  though  still 
of  pill-fed  complexion.  His  lover-like  attentions 
brought  out  a  blush  on  her  cheeks.  That  fair 
color  seemed  to  make  the  old  barn  glow  and  all 
the  hay-mow  bloom  with  fresh  heads  of  pink 
clover. 

Poor  Jierck  Dewitt  recalled  how  there  were 
once  smiles  as  gay  and  blushes  as  tender  between 
him  and  a  damsel  as  buxom. 

Poor  fellow  !  his  dinner  did  him  no  good.  He 
grew  moodier  and  moodier.  The  little  scene  be- 
tween his  sister  and  Hendrecus  had  made  him 
miserable.  He  could  not  sleep  like  Van  "Wart, 
nor  play  cards  with  Galsworthy,  nor  skylark  with 
Hendrecus.  He  sat  brooding  over  his  sorrow. 
His  powers  of  self-control  were  weakened.  He 
could  not  throw  off  this  weight  of  an  old  bitter- 
ness. A  great  vague  misery  oppressed  him.  He 
began  to  fear  his  wits  were  going. 


280  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  these  ugly  feelings  into 
shape,"  he  thought,  "  I  could  grapple  with  them 
and  choke  them  down.  I  must  do  something, 
or  I  shall  go  mad.  I  believe  I  '11  steal  round 
through  the  woods  to  where  I  can  see  old  Bils- 
by's  house  and  the  chestnut-tree  where  Abby 
first  said  she  'd  have  me.  Looking  at  the  places 
may  help  me  to  drag  this  grief  out  of  myself  and 
put  it  on  them." 

Now  that  the  British  troops  were  withdrawn 
for  Yaughan's  expedition,  Jierck  felt  quite  secure 
in  dodging  about  the  woods  of  the  Manor.  Ho 
left  his  companions  in  the  barn,  and  stole  off 
toward  his  father-in-law's  old  red  farm-house. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  his  own  ghost,  compelled 
to  haunt  a  spot  where  he  had  been  murdered. 

It  was  quiet  sunset.  The  golden  light  of 
evening  was  among  the  golden  woods.  The 
forest  showered  golden  leaves  upon  the  ground, 
and  melted  away  in  golden  motes  across  the 
level  sunbeams. 

Jierck  stole  along  until  he  came  to  a  little 
glade,  crossed  by  a  pathway.  A  great  chestnut- 
tree  had  made  the  glade  its  own.  Lesser  plants 
were  easily  thrust  back  by  its  stout  overshadow- 
ing branches,  and  its  brethren  of  the  forest  had 
willingly  given  place  to  see  what  their  brother 
would  do  with  its  chance  of  greatness.  It  had 
done  nobly.  It  was  an  example  to  trees  and  th« 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  281 

world,  of  the  wisdom  of  standing  by  one's  roots, 
expanding  to  one's  sunshine,  and  letting  one's 
self  grow  like  a  fine  old  vegetable. 

This  had  been  Jierck's  trysting-tree  in  the 
times  when  the  pastoral  poem  of  his  life  was 
writing  itself,  a  canto  a  day.  Under  this  chest- 
nut, one  summer's  eve,  when  the  whole  tree  v  as 
a  great  bouquet  of  flowery  tassels,  Jierck  had 
suddenly  ventured  to  pop  his  shy  question.  Full- 
throated  robins  up  in  those  very  branches  hid 
shouted  his  sweetheart's  "  Yes,"  for  all  the  bi  ds 
and  breezes  to  repeat. 

Jierck,  hidden  in  the  thicket,  looked  kindly  at 
the  old  tree.  He  smiled  to  recall  the  meetings 
there  when  he  was  a  timid,  clumsy  lover.  lor 
a  moment  recollections,  half  comic  and  all  pleus- 
ant,  banished  his  agony  of  a  man  betrayed  by 
a  disloyal  woman. 

But  presently  he  heard  sounds  that  were  not 
the  light  clash  of  falling  leaf  with  fallen  leaf. 
Footsteps  and  voices  were  coming.  Jierck  with- 
drew a  little  and  watched.  Two  women  appeared 
up  the  pathway,  following  their  long  shadows. 
They  came  out  into  the  glade.  It  was  his  wife 
and  her  sister,  furloughed  for  the  evening,  and 
on  their  way  homeward. 

Jierck  beheld  the  woman's  story  written  on 
her  face,  —  the  tablet  where  all  stories  of  lives 
are  written  for  decipherers  to  read.  He  saw 


282  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

no  wish  there  to  expunge  or  revise  the  later 
chapters.  His  wife  was  still  an  insolent,  brazen 
woman,  the  counterpart  of  her  mistress  on  a 
lower  plane. 

Poor  Jierck !  he  had  been  drawn  to  this  spot, 
so  he  felt,  to  see  his  murderess  and  be  stabbed 
over  again.  The  exceeding  weight  of  his  agony 
came  crushing  down  upon  him.  He  shivered. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  snow  must  suddenly  have 
fallen  with  sunset.  A  moment  ago  it  was  not 
spring,  nor  summer,  but  very  tolerable  autumn ; 
now  winter  had  come,  chilly  and  dreary.  A 
friendless  place  to  him  this  traitor  world  !  Jierck 
felt  smitten  with  degradation.  He  was  utterly 
miserable,  and  the  old  chestnut-tree  insulted  him 
with  memories  of  his  dead  hopes  of  happiness. 

"  I  must  have  comfort,"  thought  Jierck. 

When  sorrow  is  too  sharp  to  be  borne,  and 
comfort  must  be  had  at  once,  men  go  to  the 
anodynes  and  stimulants.  Kosmos  provides 
these  in  great  variety.  The  four  of  most  uni- 
versal application  are, 

Tobacco,  Alcohol,  Marriage,  Death. 

Poor  Jierck  Dewitt  wanted  comfort  at  once. 
A  whiflf  of  smoke  from  his  pipe  was  not  con- 
centrated enough,  and  he  could  not  wait  to 
try  what  virtue  there  was  in  bigamy. 

"  Rum  or  this !  "  he  said  wildly.  The  alter- 
native "  this "  seemed  to  attract  him  for  an 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  283 

instant.  lie  drew  his  knife  from  his  belt,  and 
felt  along  the  cold  edge.  Was  he  about  to  taste 
that  mighty  narcotic.  Death  ? 

Death !  He  touched  his  knife-blade.  Gloom 
alighted  upon  the  landscape.  The  golden  woods 
grew  lurid.  Silence,  deeper  than  he  had  ever 
known,  deepened  and  deepened,  until  he  fancied 
that  Nature  was  hushed  and  listening  for  his 
death-moan. 

An  imagined  picture  grew  before  his  eyes :  — 
Time,  morning.  Scene,  this  glade  of  the  big 
chestnut.  A  man  lies  under  the  tree.  The 
first  sunbeams  melt  the  frost  that  dabbles  his 
hair.  He  must  be  a  sound  sleeper,  for  a  chip- 
munk has  picked  his  pockets  of  their  crumbs, 
and  now  stands  on  his  forehead,  chuckling  over 
his  breakfast.  Mrs.  Jierck  Dewitt  enters  the 
glade.  She  sees  the  sleeper.  She  starts,  and 
approaches  cautiously.  She  stares,  and  then 
looks  up  with  a  great,  bold  smile  of  relief  and 
scorn.  For  the  sleeper  is  her  husband.  He 
lies  dead,  with  a  knife  in  his  breast. 

"  No ! "  hissed  Jierck,  dashing  away  this  pic- 
ture from  his  eyes.  "  I  '11  not  kill  myself  to 
please  Aer." 

"  Rum  !  I  must  have  rum,  or  I  shall  go  mad. 
The  old  man's  jug  will  be  in  the  old  place  in  the 
kitchen  cupboard,"  he  continued. 

He  skulked  along  rapidly  through  the  woods, 


284  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

like  a  beast  of  prey.  The  great  dull  agony 
in  bis  heart  paused  a  moment.  He  could  keep 
it  down  from  maddening  him,  while  he  thought 
of  his  sorry  consolation  to  come. 

It  was  growing  dusk  now,  and  he  was  reck- 
less. He  stopped  by  the  kitchen  window  of 
his  father's  house  and  peered  in. 

The  family  were  at  supper.  These  were  the 
early  years  of  the  Revolution,  and  war  had  not 
yet  utterly  desolated  this  region.  Squire  De- 
witt's  was  still  a  prosperous  household,  and  he, 
a  fine  old  patriarch,  presided  at  a  liberal  board. 
Opposite  him  sat  the  mild  mother  of  the  house. 
The  harmony  of  a  lifetime  of  love  and  com- 
panion thinking  on  companion  cares  had  made 
her  expression  almost  identical  with  her  hus- 
band's. Pretty  Kate,  a  daughter  of  her  parents' 
old  age,  bustled  the  meal  along,  and  hoped  her 
Hendrecus  was  not  getting  hungry.  Jierck's 
other  sister,  a  widow,  was  making  two  smiles 
grow  in  the  place  of  one,  on  her  boy  Tommy's 
round  face,  by  cutting  his  gingerbread  fatter 
than  usual.  The  cat,  from  a  dresser,  watched 
every  morsel  and  every  sip,  with  a  feline  look, 
which  is  a  thief  look. 

This  homely  scene,  instead  of  soothing  poor 
Jierck,  was  double  bitterness  to  him. 

"  Curse  the  woman  I  made  my  wife ! "  he 
thought.  "  She  has  spoilt  my  chance  of  home 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  285 

and  fireside,  of  a  happy,  age  and  children  to 
love  and  reverence  me.  Curse  her  for  making 
me  hate  my  life  !  " 

He  turned  away,  half  mean,  half  fierce,  and 
stole  in  by  the  back-door  to  the  cupboard. 

Those  were  times,  remember,  before  the  demi- 
john and  the  spinning-wheel  had  given  way  to 
Webster's  Unabridged  and  the  melodeon.  In 
every  farmer's  pantry  stood  a  Dutch-bellied 
stone  jug.  It  was  corked  with  a  corn  cob,  and 
looked  arrogantly  through  the  window  at  the 
old  oaken  bucket.  Was  there  molasses  in  that 
jug  ?  Not  so  ;  but  rum  fitzmolasses.  The  well- 
Bweep  grew  stiff  for  want  of  exercise,  moss 
covered  the  dry-rotten  bucket,  green  slime  in 
the  stagnant  well  was  only  broken  by  the 
plunges  of  lonely  old  "  Rigdumbonnimiddikai- 
mo " ;  but  the  rum-jug  was  always  alert  and 
jolly,  and  never  had  time  to  look  vacuous  before 
it  was  a  plenum  again.  It  is  hard  to  imagine 
those  ages ;  for  we  have  changed  our  manners 
now.  Our  brandy  is  dried  up,  our  rum  has 
run  away,  and  this  is  not  a  land  flowing  with 
Monongahela. 

Jierck  stole,  like  a  thief,  into  the  pantry, 
There  sat  the  great  jug,  as  of  yore.  It  was  of 
gray  stone-ware  with  blue  splashes.  Its  spout 
was  fashioned  into  a  face  on  the  broad  grin. 
"  Comfort  here  !  "  the  grinning  mask  seemed  to 


286  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

wink,  and  did  not  reveal  how  short-lived  and 
bastard  was  the  comfort  it  promised.  Jierck 
heaved  up  its  clumsy  heft,  balanced  it  upon 
his  lips,  and  swigged. 

Yes,  —  not  to  be  squeamish  in  terms,  —  this 
Patriot  of  the  Revolution  swigged.  This  was 
not  patriotic,  iior  under  the  circumstances  hon- 
orable, nor  in  any  way  wise  or  prudent.  And 
of  course,  as  his  provocation  is  unknown  to  our 
time,  we  cannot  appreciate  his  reckless  despair. 

If  he  had  only  stopped  when  he  had  enough ! 
At  the  present  day  we  never  take  too  much  of 
our  anodynes  and  our  stimulants.  One  weed, 
one  toddy,  one  wife,  one  million,  one  Presiden- 
tial term,  —  whenever  wisdom  whispers,  Satis, 
we  pause  and  echo,  "Satis  't  is."  Wisdom  was 
younger  in  Jierck's  time.  If  her  childish  voice 
did  at  all  admonish  him,  the  gurgle  in  his 
throat  made  him  deaf  to  the  warning  at  his 
tympanum.  He  took  too  much,  poor  fellow! 
Pardon  him,  and  remember  that  an  ill-omened 
she-wolf  had  just  crossed  his  path. 

There. is  a  sage  and  honorable  law  that  limits 
the  robbing  of  orchards,  — "  Eat  your  fill ;  but 
don't  fill  your  pockets."  Jierck  was  rash  enough 
to  violate  this  also.  He  pocketed  a  pint  of 
his  sorry  comforter.  He  found  an  empty  bottle 
labelled  Hair-Oil.  There  were  nameless  un- 
guents before  Macassar,  and  this  bottle  had  held 


EDWIN   BROTHEKTOFT.  287 

one  of  them.  Jierck  filled  it  from  the  jug,  and 
made  for  the  barn,  just  in  time  to  evade  pretty 
Kate  carrying  supper  to  the  others  and  her 
Hendrecus. 

Supper  was  done.  Dusk  was  come.  Jierck 
set  out  with  his  party  for  the  rendezvous.  The 
peril  was  considerable.  Hanging  was  the  pen- 
alty for  being  caught.  So  they  sharpened  their 
eyes,  pricked  up  their  ears,  trod  softly,  and 
tried  to  persuade  the  runt  pony  to  do  the  same. 
Jierck  brought  up  the  rear,  in  a  state  of  sullen 
contempt. 

At  the  cross-roads  Major  Skerrett  and  his 
companion  met  them.  It  was  night  now  in 
the  woods.  A  red  belt  of  day  behind  Dunder- 
berg  stared  watchfully  at  the  party. 

"  I  will  go  down  to  the  house  alone,  as  we  ar- 
ranged," whispered  the  Major.  "  The  negro  will 
admit  me  to  the  dining-room.  Do  you  be  ready 
on  the  lawn  by  the  window  at  half  past  eight ! 
It  will  be  dark  enough  for  safety  by  that  time. 
When  I  open  the  window  and  whistle,  jump  in 
and  take  our  man.  That  is  my  plan.  If  any- 
thing goes  wrong,  I  will  alter  it.  But  nothing 
will  go  wrong.  Good-bye  !  " 

He  moved  away  through  the  darkness. 

The  party  waited  in  the  woods,  listening  to 
the  sounds  of  evening.  It  grew  chilly.  Jierck 
Dewitt  retired  again  and  again,  and  sipped  from 


288  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

his  bottle,  labelled  Hair-Oil.  He  was  ashamed 
of  himself  for  violating  his  pledge  to  the  Major. 
But  he  soliloquized,  "  I  am  only  taking  just 
enough  to  keep  my  spirits  up, — just  enough  to 
make  a  man  of  me  after  my  making  a  baby  of 
myself  at  sight  of  that  woman." 

Just  enough !  It  is  not  pleasant  to  betray  the 
errors  of  the  past ;  but  it  is  a  truth  grave  in  this 
history  that  the  unhappy  fellow  had  much  more 
than  enough  when,  at  half  past  eight,  he  halted 
his  party  under  cover  of  the  shrubbery  on  the 
lawn  at  Brothertoft  Mauor-House. 


XII. 

EIGHT  o'clock,  and  Major  Kerr  sat  sipping  Ma- 
deira in  the  dining-room  at  Brothertoft  Manor. 

"  What 's  the  use  of  eight  candles  ?  "  he  said 
to  Voltaire. 

"Only  four,  sir,"  says  the  butler,  depositing 
two  branches  on  the  table. 

"  I  see  eight,  —  no,  sixteen.  Well,  let  'em 
burn  !  Economy  be  hanged  !  I  say,  nigger  !  " 

"  What,  sir  ?  "  Voltaire  perceived  that  his 
deteriorating  process  had  been  effectual.  Kerr 
saw  double  and  spoke  thick. 

"  I  'm  tired  of  sitting  here  alone.  Can't  you 
sing  me  a  song  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  sing  like  a  boblink,  sir ;  but  since 
I  lost  my  front  tooth  the  music  all  leaks  out  in 
dribbles.  There 's  a  redcoat  sargeant  just  come 
into  the  kitchen.  He  looks  like  a  most  a  mighty 
powerful  singer.  Shall  I  bring  him  in  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  ain't  proud.  A  Kerr  can  associate 
with  anybody." 

As  Voltaire  left  the  room,  he  picked  up  the 
Major's  sword  and  pistols  from  the  sideboard. 
is  • 


290  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Plato  was  in  the  hall,  stationed  to  watch  the 
door  of  the  parlor  where  the  lady  of  the  Manor 
was  sitting  solitary.  His  father  handed  him  the 
arras.  The  seven  seals  of  mystery  had  been 
opened,  and  Plato  was  deop  in  the  plot. 

"  Take  'em,  boy,"  says  Voltaire,  "  and  be 
ready ! " 

Ready  for  what  ?  Neither  divined.  But  Plato 
took  the  weapons  with  dignity,  and  became  a 
generalissimo  in  his  own  estimation.  He  bran- 
dished the  sword,  and  made  a  lunge  at  some 
imaginary  antagonist.  Then  he  lifted  a  cocked 
pistol,  and  took  aim.  It  was  comic  in  the  dim 
hall  to  see  him  going  through  his  silent  panto- 
mime. He  thrust,  he  parried,  he  dropped  his 
point,  he  bowed  like  an  accomplished  master  of 
fence.  He  raised  a  pistol,  bowed  graciously,  as 
if  to  say,  "  Apres  vous,  Monsieur,"  touched  trig- 
ger, assumed  a  look  half  triumph,  half  con- 
cern, then  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart  and 
smiled  the  smile  of  one  whose  wounded  honor 
is  avenged.  All  this  was  done  without  so  much 
as  a  chuckle. 

While  Plato  was  at  his  noiseless  gymnastics, 
Voltaire,  through  the  pantry,  had  conducted  the 
Sergeant  into  Major  Kerr's  presence. 

Skerrett,  with  his  moustache  off,  and  in  a  dis- 
guise a  world  too  shrunk  for  his  shanks  and 
shoulders,  looked  much  less  the  hero  than  when 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  291 

he  first  stepped  forth  upon  these  pages.  Indeed, 
at  this  moment  he  did  not  feel  very  heroic. 

He  was  sailing  under  false  colors.  He  was 
acting  a  lie.  He  did  not  like  the  business, 
whatever  the  motive  was.  He  took  his  seat 
vis-d-vis  the  rival  Major,  and  thought,  "  If  fair 
play  is  a  jewel,  I  must  give  the  effect  of  paste 
set  in  pinchbeck  at  this  moment." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Sargeant,"  says  Kerr,  speak- 
ing thick.  "  That 's  right,"  —  to  Voltaire.  "  Give 
him  some  wine  !  Fine  stuff  they  have  in  this 
house.  Better  than  regulation  grog,  Sargeant." 

The  new-comer  nodded,  and  went  at  his  supper 
vigorously. 

"  Goshshave  th'  King,  Sargn !  Buppers !  "  says 
Kerr,  holding  up  his  glass  aslant  and  spilling  a 
little. 

"  Bumpers !  "  responded  the  other. 

"Frustrate  their  politics.  Confound  their 
knavish  tricks,"  chanted  Kerr.  "  Rebblstricksh, 
I  mean,  Sargn.  Cuffoud  'em.  Buppers  !  " 

"  Bumpers  ! "  Skerrett  rejoined,  still  feeling 
great  compunction  at  the  part  he  was  playing. 

"  Sargeant,"  says  Kerr,  "  I  'm  going  to  tell  you 
something." 

Skerrett  looked  attention. 

"  I  'm  going  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  — 
spoken  confidentially. 

"  Ah ! " 


292  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Don't  say,  '  Ah  ! '  Sargeant.  Ah  expreshes 
doubtsh.  Say,  Oh !  Sargeant.  I  askitshpussonle- 
faver,  Sargn.  Say,  Oh !  " 

"  Oh ! " 

"  That 's  right.  Oh  is  congratulation."  He 
made  muddy  work  with  the  last  word.  "  Yes, 
Sargeant,  doocid  pretty  girl,  doocid  pretty  prop- 
erty. Want  to  see  her,  Sargeant  ? " 

"No,  I  thank  you." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  Sargeant.  Don't  tell  me ! 
I  'm  a  lucky  fellow,  Sargeant.  Always  was 
with  women.  I  '11  have  her  down  in  the  parlor, 
by  and  by,  and  you  can  look  through  the  crack 
of  the  door  and  see  her.  She  loves  me  so  much, 
Sargeant,  that  she's  gone  up  stairs  to  look  at 
her  wedding-dress  and  wish  for  to-morrow." 

This  discourse,  spoken  thick,  and  the  leer  that 
emphasized  it,  quite  dissipated  all  Major  Sker- 
rett's  scruples. 

"  Faugh !  "  thought  he.  "  Everything  is  fair 
play  against  such  a  beast.  I  never  comprehend- 
ed before  what  a  horror  to  a  delicate  woman 
must  be  marriage  with  such  a  creature.  Life 
would  drag  on  one  long  indignity,  and  every 
day  fresh  misery  and  fresh  disgust.  Faugh ! 
sitting  here  and  hearing  him  talk  gives  me 
qualms,  —  me,  a  man  of  the  world,  who  have 
certainly  had  time  to  outgrow  my  squeamish- 
ness.  I  could  not  tolerate  the  thought  of  giving 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  293 

up  any  woman,  even  one  with  hoart  deflowered, 
to  the  degradation  of  this  fellow's  society.  He 
shall  not  have  Mr.  Brothertoft's  gentle  daughter. 
No,  not  if  I  have  to  shoot  him  where  he  sits. 
No,  not  if  I  have  to  stab  the  lady." 

Peter  looked  at  his  watch.  Time  was  not  up. 
He  was  compelled  to  bottle  his  indignation  and 
listen  civilly. 

Kerr  grew  more  and  more  confidential  in  his 
cups.  Faugh  !  the  jokes  he  made !  the  staves 
he  trolled  !  the  winks  he  winked  !  the  imbecile 
laughs  he  roared  !  the  conquests  he  recounted 
in  love  and  war !  Faugh,  that  such  brutes  have 
sometimes  dragged  the  pure  and  the  gentle  down 
to  their  level !  Faugh,  that  they  still  grovel  on 
our  earth,  so  that  the  artist,  compelled  by  the 
conditions  of  his  work  to  paint  such  a  Silenus, 
finds  his  unpleasant  models  thick  about  him, 
and  paints  under  the  sharp  spur  of  personal 
disgust  and  personal  harm ! 

The  two  Majors  in  the  dining-room,  the  Lady 
of  the  Manor  in  a  drowsy  revery  over  the  parlor 
fire,  Lucy  eager  and  trembling  in  her  cham- 
ber, —  for  Voltaire  has  whispered  that  the  hero 
has  come,  —  Volante  saddled,  Plato  gesticulat- 
ing with  sword  and  pistols ;  —  now  let  us  see 
what  the  plotters  without  the  Manor-House  are 
doing. 


XIII. 

WHAT  are  the  plotters  without  the  Manor- 
House  doing? 

All,  except  Jierck  Dewitt,  are  standing  at 
ease,  and  waiting  for  their  commander's  signal. 
Old  Sam  Galsworthy  has  his  hand  on  the  muzzle 
of  the  runt  pony,  and  at  the  faintest  symptom 
of  a  whinny  in  reply  to  Volante's  whinnies  in 
the  stable,  Sam  plugs  the  pony's  nostrils  with 
his  thumbs  and  holds  his  jaws  together  with 
iron  hand.  Ike  Van  Wart  leans  on  his  gun, 
and  looks  dull.  Hendrecus  Canady  stands  to 
his  gun,  and  looks  sharp.  Sergeant  Lincoln- 
Brothertoft  keeps  himself  in  a  maze,  —  for  to 
think  would  be  to  doubt  of  success,  and  to 
doubt  is  to  fail. 

This  of  course  is  the  moment  when  Jierck 
Dewitt  should  be  "  stiff  as  the  Lord  Chancel- 
lor," limber  as  the  Lord  Chief  Acrobate,  steady 
as  a  steeple,  and  silent  as  a  sexton. 

But  Jierck  is  at  present  a  tipsy  man,  in  happy- 
go-lucky  mood.  lie  begins  to  grow  impatient 
waiting  in  the  cold  aud  shamming  sober.  A 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  295 

thought  strikes  him.  He  can  do  something 
more  amusing  than  stand  and  handle  a  chilly 
trigger. 

"  I  'm  going  to  take  a  turn  about  the  house 
to  see  all  's  safe,  Orderly,"  whispered  he  to 
Lincoln- Brother  toft.  "  I  leave  you  in  charge  of 
the  party.  Keep  a  sharp  look-out.  I  will  be 
back  in  half  a  jiff." 

Jierck  stole  off  into  the  darkness. 

Recollections  of  former  exploits  hereabouts 
had  revived  in  his  muddled  brain. 
•  "  Hair-oil  's  all  gone,"  he  thought.  "  Now 
if  I  could  only  get  into  the  cellar  of  the  old 
house,  I  should  have  my  choice  of  liquors,  just 
as  I  did  ten  years  ago,  when  Lady  Brothertoffc 
had  me  caught  and  licked  for  breaking  in. 
By  Congress,  it 's  worth  a  try !  The  cellar 
window-bars  used  to  be  loose  enough.  It 
won't  do  any  harm  to  give  'em  a  pull  all  round. 
If  one  gives,  I  can  tumble  in,  get  a  drink  to 
keep  my  spirits  up,  and  be  back  long  before 
the  Major  calls." 

His  fancy  was  hardly  so  coherent  as  this,  but 
he  obeyed  it.  He  crept  about  the  house  and 
fumbled  at  the  bars  of  the  nearest  window. 
The  windows  opened  on  a  level  with  the  ground. 

"  No  go,"  said  he  ;  "  try  another !  "  He  did, 
and  another. 

At  the   third   window   the    solder  was  loose 


296  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

and  a  bar  shaky.  Jierck  dug  at  the  solder 
with  his  knife  and  worked  the  bar  about.  It 
still  resisted,  and  he  admonished  it  in  a  drunken 
whisper,  "  I  'm  ashamed  of  you,  you  dum  bit 
of  rusty  iron,  keepin'  a  patriot  away  from  Tory 
property.  Give  in  now,  like  a  good  feller,  before 
I  git  mad  and  do  something  rash." 

At  this  the  bar  joined  the  patriots,  and  gave 
in.  It  came  away  in  Jierck's  hand.  He  laid 
the  cold  iron  on  the  frosty  grass.  He  could 
now  take  out  the  stone  into  which  the  bar  had 
been  set.  He  did  so.  That  released  the  foot 
of  the  next  bar.  He  bent  this  aside.  There 
was  room  for  him  to  squeeze  through. 

He  carefully  backed  into  the  cellar. 

It  was  drunkard's  luck.  A  sober  man  would 
not  have  tried  it.  Moral :  do  not  be  too  sober 
in  your  head  or  your  heart,  if  you  would  pluck 
success  among  the  nettles. 

Jierck  took  a  step  forward  in  the  Cimme- 
rian darkness  of  the  cellar.  He  fell  plump  into 
a  heap  of  that  rubbish  which  Voltaire's  flaring 
dip  revealed  to  us  in  the  morning. 

"  This  noise  won't  do,"  he  thought.  "  One 
tumble  will  pass  for  rats.  Another  may  bring 
Lady  B.  down  stairs.  I  should  n't  like  to  see 
her  standing  here  with  a  candle  in  one  hand 
and  a  knife  in  the  other.  She  'd  stick  me, 
like  pork.  No;  I  must  strike  a  light.  A  flash 
will  do,  to  show  me  the  way." 


EDWIN   BROTHKRTOFT.  297 

He  unplugged  his  powder-horn  with  his  teeth 
and  poured  a  charge  on  the  stone  floor. 

"  Old  Brindle  did  n't  know  how  many  red- 
coats that  horn  of  his  was  to  be  the  means  of 
boring  through,"  thought  Jierck.  "  Powder  's 
an  istooshn." 

In  the  dark  his  flint  and  steel  tinkled  to- 
gether. 

A  spark  flew.  Fizz.  Fiat  lux!  The  powder 
flashed. 

Cimmerian  corners,  barrels  of  curly  shavings 
and  rags  out  of  curl,  casks  gone  to  hoops  and 
staves,  shattered  furniture,  all  the  rubbishy 
properties  of  a  cellar  scene,  "  started  into  light 
and  made  the  lighter  start."  Light  gave  them 
a  knowing  look  and  was  out  again.  The  scenery 
scuffled  back  into  darkness. 

Jierck  afterward  found  that  he  had  marked 
every  object  in  that  black  hole,  as  they  flung 
forward  at  the  flash.  He  had  marked  the  scene, 
and  it  was  to  haunt  him  always.  At  present, 
he  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  wine-room. 
His  fireworks  had  shown  him  the  way  clear 
to  it.  He  saw  also  that  the  door  was  ajar,  as 
Voltaire  had  left  it  in  the  morning. 

He  moved  forward  now  without  stumble  or 
tumble.  He  felt  his  way  into  the  wine-room. 
He  touched  the  rough  dusty  backs  of  a  battery 
of  recumbent  bottles.  He  grasped  one  by  the 

13* 


298  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

aeck.  With  a  skilful  blow  against  the  shelf, 
ne  knocked  off  the  yellow-sealed  muzzle. 

"  Fire  away  !  "  said  he,  presenting  the  weapon 
at  his  lips. 

Gurgle. 

He  stopped  to  take  breath.  He  felt  like  a 
boy  again.  The  wine  tasted  as  it  did  ten  years 
igo,  when  he  first  stole  into  the  cellar,  and 
was  punished  for  it. 

"  She  can't  have  me  whaled  this  time,"  he 
muttered.  "  Here  goes  again !  What  stuff  it 
is!" 

Gurgle  a  second  time,  and  the  cellar  seems 
io  listen. 

But  while  that  amber  stream  was  flowing 
Between  the  white  stalactites  in  Jierck's  upper 
jaw,  and  the  white  stalagmites  in  his  lower,  and 
rippling  against  that  pink  stalactite  his  palate, 
before  it  leaped  farther  down  the  grotto,  — 
suddenly :  — 

A  scream  above,  a  rush,  a  shot,  a  scuffle. 

For  an  instant  Jierck  was  paralyzed.  He 
stood  listening.  The  bottle,  for  which  he  had 
deserted  his  post,  slipped  through  his  alarmed 
fingers  and  crashed  on  the  floor.  The  sound 
half  recalled  him  to  himself. 

He  turned  and  sprang  for  that  dim  parallelo- 
gram of  lighter  darkness,  —  the  window  where 
he  had  entered. 


EDWIN   BEOTHERTOFT.  299 

Awkwardly,  drunkenly,  trembling  with  haste 
and  shame,  he  clambered  up  upon  the  sill  and 
began  to  back  out  between  the  bars.  His  coat 
caught  against  the  bent  iron. 

As  he  stopped  to  disengage  it,  he  peered 
suspiciously  back  into  the  cellar. 

A  little  spot  of  red  glow  in  the  midst  of 
the  blackness  caught  his  eye. 

"  Aha !  "  he  thought,  "  my  powder  lighted 
something  tindery  in  that  heap  of  rubbish.  It 
will  soon  eat  what  it  's  got,  and  go  out  on  the 
stone  floor.  And  if  it  don't  go  out,  let  it  burn ! 
Blast  the  old  house  !  it  's  a  nest  of  Tories.  Blast 
it!  the  mistress  had  me  thrashed  like  a  dog. 
Blast  the  house !  my  wife  was  spoilt  here,  and 
that  spoilt  me.  Blast  it !  let  it  burn,  and  show 
us  the  way  out  of  the  country ! " 

Jierck  tore  his  coat  from  the  bar,  backed 
out,  picked  up  his  gun  and  skulked  tipsily  off 
to  join  his  prj-ty. 


XIV. 

JIERCK  DEWITT'S  companions  waited,  at  first 
silently,  then  anxiously,  for  his  return. 

Moments  passed,  and  he  was  still  gone. 

"  I  hope  he  hain't  played  us  a  trick,"  whispered 
Van  Wart. 

"  Not  he ! "  says  honest  Sam  Galsworthy. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  boys,"  whispers  the 
rootrdoctor's  son.  Jierck  has  got  liquor  aboard. 
Taint  mutiny  to  say  so,  now  he  's  gone.  I  heard 
him  walk  tipsy  when  we  came  from  the  barn. 
When  we  got  here,  I  saw  he  stood  too  ramrod 
for  a  sober  man.  You  know  how  it  is.  Since 
his  wife  went  bad,  he  's  lived  on  rum  for  stiddy 
victuals.  He  swore  off  to  Major  Skerrett.  But 
he  did  n't  swear  strong  enough,  or  else  some- 
thin'  strange  has  drawed  his  cork." 

"  If  that  is  so,"  said  Lincoln-Brothertoft,  "  I 
must  follow,  and  see  that  he  does  not  risk  him- 
self or  us.  Watch,  men,  for  your  lives !  " 

"They  may  call  that  man  Orderly  Lincoln," 
says  Hendrecus  Canady,  as  the  other  disappeared 
about  the  house,  "  but  I  believe  he  's  Tommy 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  301 

Jefferson  or  some  other  Congressman  in  dis- 
guise. He  talks  powerful  dictionary.  And  how 
did  he  come  to  know  this  country  like  a  hawk 
and  like  a  hoppertoad  both?" 

It  seemed  sad  and  sorry  business  to  Edwin 
Brothertoft  to  go  prowling  like  a  burglar  about 
the  home  of  his  forefathers. 

He  followed  Jierck  around  the  rear  of  the 
house.  All  the  familiar  objects  wore  an  un- 
kindly, alienated  look.  The  walls  were  grim, 
the  windows  were  dark,  the  whole  building  said 
to  him,  "  You  are  an  exile  and  an  intruder." 

But  he  had  no  time  for  sentimental  regrets. 
He  turned  the  northern  side  of  the  house.  A 
bright  light  burned  in  Lucy's  chamber  in  the 
tower.  He  could  see  a  shadowy  figure  moving 
behind  the  curtain. 

"  My  child !  in  a  few  moments  we  shall  meet," 
he  thought. 

Nothing  to  be  seen  of  Jierck  Dewitt!  The 
sight  of  his  daughter's  form  revived  his  anxiety. 
Peering  into  the  dark,  he  passed  about  the 
corner  of  the  turret. 

He  stopped  opposite  the  parlor  windows  on 
the  front.  A  shutter  stood  open.  A  faint  light, 
as  from  a  flickering  wood-fire  within,  gleamed 
out  into  the  hazy  night.  The  window-sill  was 
breast  high  to  a  man. 


302  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  There  we  used  to  sit,"  he  murmured,  "  my 
wife  and  I.     There  by  the  fire,  in  the  evenings 
of  autumns   long   passed,  I   have   watched   her 
love  dying,  and  all  my  hopeful  vigor  dying,  - 
dying  into  ashes." 

The  mighty  despotism  of  an  old  love  mastered 
him  for  a  moment.  There  was  little  bitterness 
in  his  heart.  These  scenes,  once  so  dear,  be- 
came dear  to  him  again.  He  pardoned  them  for 
their  unconscious  share  in  the  tragedy  of  his  life. 
.  "  I  must  have  one  glance  into  that  room,"  he 
thought.  "  My  memory  of  it  will  be  a  trouble- 
some ghost  in  my  brain,  until  I  have  laid  the 
ghost  with  a  sight  of  the  reality." 

He  stole  forward  softly  over  the  crisp,  frosty 
grass,  and  looked  cautiously  in  at  the  window. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  was  seated  alone  before  the 
fire.  Guilt  must  sit  alone  and  dwell  alone. 
Loneliness  is  the  necessity  and  the  punishment 
of  guilty  hearts.  No  friends  are  faithful  but  the 
noble  and  the  pure,  and  them  guilt  dreads  and 
rejects.  Mrs.  Brothertoft  was  sitting  alone  in 
the  fire-lit  room.  It  was  an  instant  before  her  - 
husband's  eyes  could  distinguish  objects  within. 
He  drew  close  to  the  window.  He  perceived 
her.  A  thrill  of  pity  and  pardon  killed  all  his 
old  rancors.  He  felt  that,  though  he  must  war 
against  her  for  his  daughter's  sake,  he  fought, 
reserving  an  infinite  tenderness  for  his  foe. 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  303 

And  she  within, — had  she  heard  that  stealthy 
step  of  his  upon  the  stiffened  grass  and  the  dry- 
leaves  ?  Had  his  faint  sigh  penetrated  to  her,  as 
she  sat  silent  and  moody  ?  Did  she  feel  the 
magnetism  of  human  presence,  —  the  spiritual 
touch  of  a  spirit  wounded  by  her  wrong?  Or 
was  it  merely  that  in  these  days  of  alarm  and 
violence  she  kept  her  senses  trained  and  alert  ? 

He  saw  her  cruel  face  turn  suddenly,  stare 
into  the  night,  and  mark  an  intruder. 

For  one  breath  he  stood  motionless. 

Then,  as  she  sprang  forward  to  the  window  and 
shouted  for  help,  he  turned  and  ran  around  the 
rear  of  the  house  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left 
his  comrades. 


" 


XV. 

HALF  past  eight,  and  the  two  majors  still  sat 
vis-d-vis  in  the  dining-room. 

"  I  am  tired  of  this,"  thought  Skerrett.  "  I 
have  had  enough  of  swallowing  bumpers  to  this 
fellow's  '  buppers.'  I  have  heard  enough  of  his 
foulness,  his  boasts,  and  his  drivel.  I  could 
never  have  been  patient  so  long  except  for  the 
lady's  sake.  Every  word  and  look  of  his  is  an 
imperative  command  to  me  to  make  sure  of  her 
safety.  Yes,  yes,  Voltaire !  You  need  n't  nod 
and  wink  that  she  is  ready  and  anxious.  Ten 
minutes  more,  to  be  positive  that  my  men  are 
come,  —  and  then,  Major,  please  the  Goddess  of 
Liberty,  I  '11  forbid  your  banns,  and  walk  off 
with  your  person.  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  brute  as 
you  are.  And  you  will  not  like  your  wineless 
quarters  with  Old  Put." 

Monstrous  long  minutes,  those  final  ten !  At 
the  rate  of  a  thousand  a  minute,  shades  of  doubt 
drifted  across  Peter's  mind. 

Who  has  not  known  suspense  and  its  mis- 
eries ?  —  something  hanging  over  him  by  a  hair, 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  305 

or  he  hanging  by  a  hair  over  nothing.  Patience, 
Peter  Skerrett !  The  pendulum  ticks.  It  checks 
off  the  minutes,  surely. 

And  while  those  minutes  pass,  tipsy  Jierck 
Dewitt  is  at  work  in  the  cellar,  trying  to  drown 
the  misery  that  this  guilty  house  has  caused  him. 

The  ten  were  almost  ended,  when  Brother  toft 
started  to  search  for  the  stray  leader,  that  other 
victim  of  a  woman's  disloyalty. 

It  was  in  the  very  last  of  the  ten  that  Mrs. 
Brothertoft  turned  suddenly  and  saw  an  un- 
known face  staring  in  at  her,  as  she  sat  in  the 
dusky  parlor. 

Time  was  up.  Major  Skerrett  walked  quietly 
to  the  window,  threw  up  the  sash,  opened  the 
bhutters,  and  whistled  in  his  men. 

Three  only  came  leaping  in  at  the  summons. 


XVI. 

ENTER  through  the  dining-room  window,  Ike 
Van  Wart,  old  Sain  Galsworthy,  and  Hendrecus 
Canady. 

At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Brothertoft's  cry 
for  help  rang  through  the  house.  Jierck  De- 
witt  in  the  cellar  heard  it.  Lucy  in  her  turret 
heard  it.  Plato  in  the  hall  could  not  but  hear 
it,  close  at  his  ears. 

Plato  was  still  on  guard,  playing  pantomime 
with  the  weapons.  He  stood,  with  pistol  out- 
stretched, pointing  at  an  imaginary  foe.  It  was 
a  duello  he  was  fancying.  He  had  received  the 
other  party's  fire  unscathed.  Now  his  turn  was 
come.  He  proudly  covered  his  invisible  antag- 
onist with  his  pistol  at  full  cock. 

"  Apologize,  sir,"  whispered  Plato,  "  or  —  " 

Here  came  his  mistress's  lou<J  scream  for  help. 

Plato  was  petrified. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  rushed  into  the  hall. 

There  was  tho  negro,  standing  like  a  statue, 
holding  forth  a  veapon  to  her  hand.  She  seized 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  307 

it.  Her  sudden  fright  reacted  into  a  sharp  fury. 
She  was  fearless  enough,  this  cruel  virago. 
The  touch  of  a  deadly  weapon  made  her  long  to 
be  dealing  death.  She  heard  the  scuffle  in  the 
dining-room. 

"  Come !  "  whispered  her  old  comrades,  the 
Furies,  closing  in,  and  becoming  again  body  of 
her  body,  spirit  of  her  spirit.  "  Come,  take  your 
chance!  Here  are  marauders,  —  rebels!  Shoot 
one  of  them !  Practise  here !  Then  you  will 
get  over  any  scruples  against  blood,  and  can  kill 
the  people  you  hate,  if  they  ever  come  in  your 
way.  Now,  madam  !  " 

Such  a  command  ran  swiftly  through  her 
brain.  She  opened  the  dining-room  door. 

Her  scream  told  the  assaulting  party  they 
were  discovered.  They  were  pinioning  Major 
Kerr  in  double-quick  time.  He  sat  in  tipsy  be- 
wilderment, mumbling  vain  protests  and  vainer 
threats. 

Not  one  of  the  group  about  the  captive  ob- 
served the  mistress  of  the  house,  as  she  softly 
opened  the  door. 

But  another  did. 

Edwin  Brothertoft,  tardily  following  his  party, 
was  clambering  through  the  window. 

He  saw  his  wife  at  the  door.  She  must  be 
kept  from  the  danger  of  any  chance  shot  or 
chance  blow  in  the  scuffle.  This  was  his  im- 


808  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

pulse.      He   sprang  forward   to  put   her  away 
gently. 

She  instantly  fired  at  the  approaching  figure. 

He  fell. 

He  staggered,  and  fell.  His  head  struck  the 
claw-foot  of  the  table,  and  he  lay  there  motion 
less,  with  face  upturned  and  temple  bleeding. 

Her  husband  !     She  knew  him  at  once. 

His  thin,  gray  hair  drawn  back  from  his  mild, 
dreamy  face,  with  the  old  pardoning  look  she 
remembered  so  well  and  hated  so  fiercely,  — 
there  lay  the  man  she  had  wronged  and  ruined, 
dead ;  yes,  as  it  seemed,  dead  at  last  by  her 
own  hand. 

"  My  husband  !  " 

She  said  it  with  a  strange,  quiet  satisfaction. 

Every  one  paused  an  instant,  while  she  stood 
looking  at  her  work,  with  a  smile. 

She  had  done  well  to  wait.  Those  impalpable 
weapons  she  used  to  see  in  the  air  had  become 
palpable  at  last.  Yes  ;  she  had  waited  wisely. 
This  was  self-defence,  not  murder.  She  had  the 
triumph  without  the  name  of  crime. 

"  So  you  must  come  prowling  about  here,  and 
be  shot,"  she  said  to  him,  as  if  they  were  alone 
together. 

And  she  spurned  him  with  her  foot. 

As  by  this  indignity  she  touched  and  broke 
down  the  last  limit  of  womanliness,  she  felt  a 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  309 

great  exulting  thrill  of  liberty,  a  mad  sense  of 
power.  Nothing  could  offer  itself  now  that  she 
was  not  willing  to  do.  Any  future  cruelty  was  a 
trifle  to  this.  Her  joy  in  this  homicide  promoted 
it  to  a  murder. 

She  looked  up.  The  group  about  Kerr  were 
all  regarding  her.  She  laughed  triumphantly  in 
a  dreadful  bedlam  tone,  and  flung  her  pistol  at 
Major  Skerrett. 

He  caught  the  missile  with  his  hand. 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  "  said  he.  "  Do  you  know 
that  you  have  killed  your  husband  ?  Take  her 
into  the  next  room,  men  !  " 

"  Come,  madam,"  said  Galsworthy,  gently. 
"  You  did  not  know  it.  We  are  sorry  it  was 
not  one  of  us.  We  are  Manor  men,  come  to 
take  this  Britisher  prisoner,  not  to  harm  anybody 
or  anything  here." 

"  Curse  you  all ! "  she  cried,  and  she  made  a 
clutch  at  Sam's  honest  face.  "  I  am  not  sorry, — 
not  I !  No ;  glad,  glad,  glad  !  And  I  '11  have 
you  all  served  so,  —  no,  hung,  hung  for  spies  ! " 

"  Take  her  away,  men  ! "  repeated  Skerrett. 
"  We  must  confine  her.  But  not  here  with  this 
dead  man.  Gently  now,  as  gently  as  you  can ; 
remember  she 's  a  woman !  " 

"  Woman !  "  says  Canady,  holding  her  fingers 
from  his  face.  "  No,  by  the  Continental  Con- 
gress! she's  a  hell-cat." 


310  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  No  hope  for  him  with  such  a  wound  as 
that,"  said  the  Major,  kneeling  over  Brother  to  ft 
and  examining  his  bloody  forehead.  "  He  seems 
to  be  quite  dead.  See  to  him,  Sappho  !  Stand 
by  Major  Kerr,  Van  Wart,  while  I  dispose  of  the 
woman ! " 

"  Sargn,"  mumbled  Kerr,  "  I  'm  sashfied  't  's 
all  a  mshtake." 

The  two  men  dragged  Mrs.  Brothertoft,  strug- 
gling furiously,  across  into  the  parlor,  and  forced 
her  into  an  arm-chair  before  the  fire. 

Skerrett  followed.  Plato  was  hi  the  hall,  terri- 
fied at  the  mischief  he  had  caused. 

"  Run,  Plato,"  said  the  Major,  "  and  have  Miss 
Lucy's  mare  out.  And  you,  Voltaire,  don't  look 
so  frightened,  man  !  We  must  make  the  best  of 
it.  Bring  the  young  lady  down  some  back  way ! 
She  must  not  see  her  father  or  her  mother. 
Horrible,  horrible,  all !  A  dreadful  end  of  all 
this  sorrow  and  sin  !  " 

He  passed  into  the  parlor. 

The  flickering  firelight  gave  a  dim  reality  to 
the  objects  there.  They  stirred,  they  advanced 
and  retreated.  The  rich  old  family  furniture 
seemed  eager  to  take  part  in  the  tragic  acts 
now  rehearsing. 

Major  Skerrett,  in  the  dimness,  marked  the 
Vandyck  on  the  wall.  The  torn  curtain  had  not 
been  repaired.  It  still  fell  away  at  the  upper 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  311 

corner,  revealing  the  heads  of  Colonel  Brother- 
toft  and  his  white  charger.  A  startling  resem- 
blance the  portrait  bore  to  him  now  lying  dead 
across  the  hall.  It  might  almost  seem  as  if  the 
spirit  of  the  departed,  with  a  bitter  interest  in 
these  scenes  of  old  sorrow  and  joy,  and  in  the 
personages  who  still  moved  in  them,  had  iden- 
tified itself  with  the  picture,  and  was  stationed 
there  to  watch  events. 

A  single  glance  gave  Major  Skerrett  these  ob- 
jects and  impressions.  He  turned  to  the  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  She  sat,  baffled  and  glaring, 
held  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  two  men. 

"  Madam,"  said  Skerrett  gravely,  "  I  regret 
that  I  must  confine  you.  You  have  shown  your 
power  to  do  harm,  and  threatened  more.  I  can- 
not take  you  with  me  for  safety.  If  I  left  you 
free,  you  could  start  pursuit,  and  we  should  be 
caught  and  hung,  as  you  desire.  Boys,  tie  her 
in  the  chair.  So  as  not  to  hurt  her  now ;  but 
carefully,  so  that  she  cannot  stir  hand  or  foot. 
I  hate  to  seem  to  maltreat  a  woman." 

They  belted  her  and  corded  her  fast  in  the 
chair.  She  wrestled  frantically,  and  cursed 
them  with  unwomanly  words,  such  as  no  wo- 
man should  know. 

"  There  you  are,  ma'am,  fast !  "  says  Gals- 
worthy, drawing  back.  "  You  're  tied  so  you 
won't  feel  it,  and  so  you  can't  hurt  yourself  or 
anybody  else." 


312  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT 

Skerrett  heaped  up  the  fire  to  bum  steadily 
and  slowly.  Then,  with  great  tenderness  of 
manner,  he  laid  a  shawl  over  Mrs.  Brothertoft's 
shoulders. 

"  Madam,"  said  he  again,  "  I  am  sincerely 
sorry  that  I  must  imprison  you.  I  have  tried 
to  make  you  as  comfortable  as  possible.  The 
night  is  fine.  This  fire  will  burn  till  morning. 
I  must  take  your  people  all  away  with  me,  for 
safety;  but  they  shall  be  despatched  back,  as 
soon  as  we  are  out  of  danger,  to  release  you, 
and  "  —  here  his  voice  grew  graver  —  "  to  bury 
the  husband  whom  you  have  killed,  and  in 
whose  death  you  triumph." 

She  made  no  answer.  All  the  flickering  of 
the  fire  could  not  shake  the  cold  look  of  defiance 
now  settled  on  her  handsome  face.  The  color 
had  faded  from  her  cheeks.  Her  countenance 
—  rimmed  with  her  black  hair,  disordered  in 
the  struggle  —  was  like  the  marble  mask  of  a 
Gorgon. 

The  Major  paused  a  moment,  listening  if  she 
would  speak.  "  It  seems  brutal  to  leave  her 
so,"  he  thought.  "But  what  else  can  I  do? 
She  will  grow  calm  by  and  by,  and  sleep.  There 
are  worse  places  to  pass  the  night  in  than  a 
comfortable  arm-chair  before  a  good  fire." 

"  Good  night,  madam,"  he  said,  with  no  trace 
of  a  taunt  in  his  tone. 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  313 

The  cold  look  gave  place  to  an  expression 
of  utter  malignancy  and  rage,  at  her  impotence 
to  do  further  harm. 

"  Move  on,  men,"  said  the  Major,  and  fol- 
lowed them. 

At  the  door  he  turned  to  survey  the  scene 
once  more.  Its  tragedy  terribly  fascinated  him. 

There  sat  the  lady,  with  the  fire  shining  on 
her  determined  profile.  She  was  quiet  now ; 
and,  from  the  picture,  the  heads  of  the  soldier 
and  his  white  horse  as  quietly  regarded  her. 

Skerrett  closed  the  door  softly. 

He  listened  an  instant  without.  Would  she 
relent  ?  Would  he  hear  a  sob,  and  then  a  great 
outburst  of  penitent  agony,  when,  left  to  herself, 
she  faced  the  thought  of  this  ghastly  accident, 
which  she  had  adopted  as  a  crime  ? 

Ho  listened.     Not  a  sound! 

There  was  no  time  to  lose,  and  the  Major 
hurried  after  his  men. 


J* 


XVII. 

ALL  this  while  Lucy  had  been  waiting  anx- 
iously in  her  chamber  in  the  turret. 

As  twilight  faded,  she  took  her  farewell  of 
river,  slopes,  groves,  and  mountains.  With  dy- 
ing day,  all  that  beloved  scene  sank  deeper  into 
her  memory. 

At  last  Voltaire  came  and  whispered :  "  They 
are  come.  Be  ready  when  I  call !  " 

She  was  ready ;  and  now,  in  these  few  mo- 
ments, before  she  blew  out  her  light  and  de- 
parted, she  studied  the  familiar  objects  about  her 
with  new  affection. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  if  all  the  observation  of 
her  past  life  had  been  half-conscious  and  dreamy. 

The  sudden  ripening  of  her  character,  by  this 
struggle  with  evil,  gave  all  her  faculties  force. 

Commonplace  objects  were  no  longer  common- 
place. Everything  in  her  room  became  invested 
with  a  spiritual  significance. 

"  Good  bye,  my  dear  old  mirror!"  she  thought. 
"  You  have  given  me  much  dumb  sympathy 
when  I  smiled  or  wept.  You  could  not  answer 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  3l5 

my  tearful  questions,  why  my  innocent  life  must 
be  so  dreary.  I  begin  to  comprehend  at  last  the 
Myself  you  have  helped  me  to  study.  Good  bye, 
my  bedside !  I  had  no  mother's  lap  to  rest  my 
head  on  when  I  prayed.  But  your  cool,  white 
cushion  never  repelled  me,  whether  I  knelt  in 
doubt  or  in  agony.  Good  bye,  my  pillow ! 
thanks  for  many  a  night  of  oblivion !  thanks 
for  many  an  awakening  with  hope  louewed! 
Good  bye,  kind,  sheltering  walls  of  my  refuge ! 
The  child  you  have  known  so  long  iv.  a  woman. 
Girlhood  ends  sharply  here.  The  wjman  says, 
Good  bye." 

As  she  stood  waiting  for  the  sigr^i  of  flight, 
suddenly  her  mother's  cry  of  alarm  broke  the 
silence. 

At  that  ill-omened  voice,  Lucy  trembled,  and 
for  one  moment  despaired. 

Then  came  the  sharp  crack  of  the  pistol-shot. 

The  shock  startled  her  into  courage.  This 
note  of  battle  joined  awaked  all  the  combatant  in 
her.  "  I  cannot  hide  here,"  she  thought,  "  while 
they  are  in  danger  for  my  sake.  I  cannot  fight, 
but  I  may  help,  if  any  one  is  hurt." 

One  more  glance  about  her  chamber,  and  then 
she  closed  the  door,  and  shut  herself  out  into  the 
wide  world. 

At  the  top  of  the  staircase,  the  sound  of  a 
struggle  below  met  her.  She  paused,  and  shud- 


316  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

dered.  Not  for  fear.  Timidity  seemed  to  je 
expunged  from  the  list  of  her  possible  emotions. 
She  shuddered  for  horror. 

She  recognized  her  mother's  voice.  She 
heard  those  bedlam  cries  and  curses.  These 
were  the  tones  of  a  woman  who  had  ejected  the 
woman,  and  was  a  wild  beast.  Feminine  re- 
serve had  dropped  at  last,  and  the  creature 
appeared  what  her  bad  life  had  slowly  made  her. 

"  What  final  horror  has  done  this  ?  "  thought 
Lucy. 

She  leaned  cautiously  over  the  banisters,  and 
beheld  the  scene  in  the  hall.  A  sickening  sight 
for  a  daughter  to  see !  A  strange  scene  in  that 
proud  and  orderly  house !  Outward  decorum,  at 
least,  had  always  reigned  there.  Evil  had  now, 
at  last,  undergone  its  natural  development  into 
violence. 

Pale  and  shivering  with  excitement,  but  con- 
scious of  a  new-born  sense  of  justice  and  an  in- 
exorable hardness  of  heart  against  guilt,  Lucy 
leaned  forward,  and  saw  her  mother  struggling 
with  the  two  men.  She  saw  the  alarmed  ne- 
groes. She  saw  the  gentleman,  whom  she  iden- 
tified at  a  glance  as  the  expected  hero,  and  heard 
his  grave  voice  as  he  ordered  Plato  to  make  her 
horse  ready  and  Voltaire  to  seek  herself. 

"  A  dreadful  end  of  all  this  sorrow  and  sin ! " 
she  heard  him  say. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  317 

Lucy  repeated  those  words  to  herself  in  a 
whisper.  "  A  dreadful  end !  What  does  he 
mean  ?  1  do  not  see  my  father.  Can  it  be  ? 
Did  she  fire  the  shot?  Has  she  murdered  the 
body,  as  she  has  done  her  best  to  kill  the  soul  ?  " 

Lucy  sprang  down  the  stairs,  by  Voltaire,  and 
into  the  dining-room. 

There  sat  Major  Kerr,  drivelling  entreaties  to 
his  impassive  sentry. 

And  on  the  floor,  with  a  stream  of  blood  flow- 
ing over  his  temple  and  clotting  his  gray  hair 
lay  a  man,  — her  father ! 

Sappho  was  moaning  over  him. 

Lucy  flung  her  aside,  almost  fiercely.  She 
crushed  her  own  great  cry  of  anguish.  She 
knelt  by  him  and  lifted  the  reverend  head  with 
her  arms. 

And  so  it  happened  that  when  Edwin  Brother- 
toft,  stunned  by  a  sharp  blow  from  a  glanced 
bullet  and  by  his  heavy  fall,  in  a  moment  came 
to  himself  and  unclosed  his  eyes,  he  saw  his 
daughter's  face  hanging  over  him,  and  felt  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  Her  tender  arms  em- 
bracing him,  —  her  lips  at  his. 

Ah,  moment  of  dear  delight!  when  life  re- 
newed perceived  that  love  was  there  to  welcome 
it  and  to  baptize  its  birth  with  happy  tears ! 

Here  Jierck  Dewitt  reappeared  upon  the  scene. 

Alarm  had  fallen  upon  him,  like  water  on  a 


318  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

tipsy  pate  under  a  pump.  He  was  sober  enough 
to  perceive  that  he  must  justify  his  outsidership 
and  make  his  desertion  forgotten.  He  looked 
through  the  window,  took  his  cue,  and  then  bus- 
tled forward  officioiisly.  He  spoke,  to  be  sure, 
with  a  burr,  and  trod  as  if  the  floor  were  undu- 
lating gayly  beneath  him ;  but  why  may  not 
haste  and  eagerness  make  tongue  and  feet  trip  ? 
"  Hooray,  Ike  !  "  cries  he  ;  "  I  've  made  all 
right  outside.  Plato  's  just  bringing  out  your 
horse,  Miss.  Thank  you  for  looking  after  the 
Sergeant,  Miss,"  continued  Jierck,  blundering 
down  on  his  knees  beside  Mr.  Brothertoft. 
"  How  do  you  find  yourself,  Sergeant  ?  0, 
you  '11  do.  Only  a  little  love-tap  the  ball  gave 
you.  A  drop  of  rum,  —  capital  thing  rum,  al- 
ways, —  a  drop  on  a  bit  of  brown  paper,  stuck  on 
the  scratch,  and  you  're  all  right.  Feel  a  little 
sick  with  the  jar,  don't  you  ?  Yes.  Well,  we 
must  get  you  outside  into  the  air.  Now,  then, 
make  a  lift.  Thank  you,  Miss.  Now,  again. 
Why,  Sergeant,  you  're  almost  as  steady  on  your 
pins  as  I  am.  Now,  Miss,  you  hold  him  on  that 
side,  and  here  I  am  on  this,  stiff  as  the  Lord 
Chancellor.  Think  you  can  step  over  the  win- 
dow-sill, Sargeant?  Well  done!  And  here  we 
are,  out  in  the  fresh  air !  And  here 's  the  boy 
with  the  horse.  All  right!  All  right,  Major; 
here  we  are,  waiting  for  you ! " 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  319 

Tho  last  was  said  to  Major  Skerrett,  who  came 
hurrying  out  after  them. 

"  You  are  not  badly  hurt,  thank  God  !  "  he 
said,  grasping  his  friend's  hand. 

"  No,"  replied  the  other,  still  feehle  with  the 
shock,  "  Heaven  does  not  permit  such  horror. 
What  have  you  done  with  her  ? " 

"  I  have  left  her  confined  in  the  parlor.  We 
bound  her  there,  as  tenderly  as  might  be.  She 
cannot  suffer  in  person  at  all." 

"  I  suppose  I  had  better  take  your  word  for 
it." 

"  You  must.  We  must  not  dally  a  moment. 
Some  straggler  may  have  heard  the  pistol-shot 
and  be  on  our  track.  Now,  boys,  mount  the 
Major  on  his  pony." 

"  My  daughter,  Skerrett ;  you  will  give  her 
your  hand  for  good-will,"  said  the  father. 

In  the  hazy  night  she  could  but  faintly  see 
her  paladin,  and  he  her.  There  was  no  time 
for  thanks  and  compliments.  No  time  for  Lucy 
to  search  for  the  one  look  with  all  the  woman 
in  it,  and  the  one  word  with  all  the  spirit  in  it, 
that  might  express  her  vast  passion  of  gratitude. 
She  gave  him  her  hand,  containing  at  least  one 
lobe  of  her  heart.  He  pressed  it  hastily,  and  as 
certainly  a  portion  of  his  heart  also  was  in  his 
palm,  there  may  have  been  an  exchange  of  lobes 
in  the  hurry. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Hoist  away,  Sam  !  "  said  Hendrecus  Canady, 
buckling  to  one  of  Major  Kerr's  limp  legs. 

"  Ay,  ay  ! "  rejoined  Galsworthy,  on  his  side 
boosting  bravely  at  the  lubberly  carcass  of  the 
prisoner,  while  Ike  Van  Wart  held  the  runt 
pony's  head.  "  Seems  to  me  these  Britishers 
get  drunker  when  they  're  drunk  than  we  do." 

*'  We  're  so  full  of  the  spirit  of  '76,"  rejoined 
the  root-doctor's  son,  "  that  no  other  kind  of 
spirit  can  please  us." 

"  Cooducher  take  summuddy  elsh,  now, 
boysh  ?  "  boosily  entreated  poor  Kerr ;  "  Shrenry 
Clidn  wantsh  me." 

Ah,  Major  !  Sir  Henry  must  continue  to  want 
you.  Nobody  listens  to  your  deteriorated  King's 
English  and  no  more  of  it  shall  be  here  re- 
peated. 

"  We  have  not  a  moment  to  lose,"  said  Major 
Skerrett.  "  We  must  not  let  our  success  grow 
cold.  I  have  my  prisoner,  Mr.  Brothertoft,  and 
your  daughter  is  with  you.  Each  of  us  will  take 
care  of  his  own.  For  the  first  ten  miles  we  had 
better  separate.  I,  with  our  friend  the  Major, 
will  make  a  dash  along  the  straight  road,  and 
you  will  take  to  the  by-paths  and  the  back 
country,  as  we  agreed.  If  there  is  any  chase, 
it  will  be  after  us,  and  we  can  all  fight.  I  will 
give  you  charge  of  all  the  non-combatants.  Vol- 
taire, you  and  your  family  will  travel  with  your 
master." 


EDWIN   BROTIIKRTOFT.  321 

"  Yes,  sir,"  says  Voltaire,  "we  nercr  want  to 
see  this  house  again,  so  long  as  she 's  there. 
The  women  will  come  in  the  morning,  and  they 
can  cut  her  loose." 

"  Well,  your  master  will  settle  that.  Until 
Miss  Lucy  is  out  of  danger  you  must  all  stay 
by  her.  Where  's  Jierck  Dewitt  ?  " 

"  Here,  sir,"  says  Jierck,  from  behind  Volante. 

"  You  've  deceived  me,  and  been  drinking, 
Jierck." 

"  I  have,  Major,"  the  repentant  man  replied. 
"  I  saw  my  wife  going  by,  and  everything  grew 
so  black  that  I  had  to  fire  up  a  little,  or  I  should 
have  stuck  a  knife  into  me.  But  I  'm  all  right 
now.  Trust  me  once  more  !  " 

"  I  must !  Go  with  the  lady  !  Bring  her  safo 
through,  and  I  will  forget  that  you  have  forgotten 
yourself." 

The  two  parties  separated  with  "  Good  bye ' 
God  speed  !  " 

Major  Kerr  made  an  attempt  at  "  Au  rtvoir* 
Miss  Lucy."  But  his  vinous  consonants  could 
not  find  their  places  among  his  vinous  vowels, 
and  his  civility  was  inarticulate. 

Skerrett  halted,  and  watched  Volante  among 
the  yellow  trees,  until  there  was  not  even  a 
whisk  of  her  tail  to  be  seen  across  the  luminous 
haze  of  the  cool  starlit  night  of  October. 

"  Noble   horse  !    lovely   lady  !  "   he   thought. 

14*  0 


322  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

"  It  is  a  sacrifice  not  to  accompany  and  protect 
her ;  but  she  will  be  safe,  and  nay  duty  is  with 
my  prisoner.  Now,  ought  I  not  to  go  back  and 
tell  the  wife  that  she  did  not  kill  her  husband  ? 
Time  is  precious.  She  would  only  curse  and  say 
she  was  sorry  she  missed.  No  ;  I  cannot  bear 
again  to  see  a  woman  so  de womanized.  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  of  that  cruel  virago  as  the  mother 
of  this  delicate  girl.  No  ;  let  her  stay  there 
alone,  and  think  of  herself  as  a  murderess  ! 
Perhaps  remorse  may  visit  her  in  the  dead  of 
night,  —  perhaps  repentance  in  the  holy  stillness 
of  dawn." 

Peter  took  his  last  look  at  the  mansion.  It 
stood  dim  and  unsubstantial  in  the  mist,  and 
silent  as  a  cenotaph. 

He  overtook  his  men,  and  pushed  rapidly  and 
safely  along.  But  still  a  vague  uneasiness  beset 
him,  lest,  in  these  days  of  violence,  some  disaster 
might  befall  that  deserted  house  and  its  helpless 
tenant.  Long  after  he  was  involved  in  the  dusky 
denies  of  the  Highlands,  he  found  himself  paus- 
ing and  looking  southward.  Every  sound  in  the 
silent  night  seemed  a  cry  for  help  from  that 
beautiful  Fury  he  had  left  before  the  glimmer- 
ing fire,  with  the  portrait  watching  her,  like  a 
ghost. 

Poor  Kerr !  plaintive  at  first,  then  sullen,  then 
surly,  then  doleful.  The  runt  pony  set  its  legs 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  323 

hard  down  on  terra  firma,  and  bumped  the 
bumptiousness  all  out  of  him. 

All  the  good  nature  of  his  captors  could  not 
better  his  case.  He  was  sadly  dejected  in  mind 
and  flaccid  in  person  when  the  party  issued 
from  the  Highlands,  a  little  after  late  mooii- 
rise. 

Major  Skerrett  only  waited  till  he  saw  the 
pumpkins  of  the  Fishkill  plain,  lying  solitary  or 
social,  and  turning  up  their  cheeks  to  the  cool 
salute  of  wan  and  waning  Luna.  Then  he  gave 
his  prisoner  to  Van  Wart  and  Galsworthy,  to  be 
put  to  bed  at  Putnam's  quarters,  and  himself, 
with  Hendrecus,  turned  back  to  meet  the  fugi- 
tives. 

Let  us  now  trace  them  on  their  flight  from 
Brothertoft  Manor. 


XVIII. 

THE  other  party  of  fugitives  took  a  more  cir- 
cuitous route,  to  the  east,  through  that  scantily 
peopled  region. 

Yolante  stepped  proudly  along,  pricking  up 
her  ears  to  recognize  familiar  bugbears,  and  to 
question  strange  stocks  and  stones,  whether  they 
were  "  miching  malicho"  to  horse-flesh. 

Brothertoft  walked  by  his  daughter's  side. 
Only  now  and  then  in  their  hurried  march 
could  he  take  'her  hand  and  speak  and  hear 
some  word  of  tender  love.  But  the  conscious- 
ness in  each  of  the  other's  presence,  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  new  birth  of  the  holiest  of  all 
the  holy  affections  between  them,  was  sufficient. 
A  vague  bliss  involved  them  as  they  hurried 
through  the  dim  night.  And  both  evaded  the 
thought  of  that  Hate  they  had  left  behind, — 
that  embodied  Hate,  helpless  and  alone,  at 
Brothertoft  Manor. 

The  negroes  trotted  along,  babbling  comically 
together. 

Jierck  Dewitt  led  the  way  in  silence. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  325 

"  I  shall  never  dare  to  face  Major  Skorrett 
again,  if  I  don't  bring  these  people  straight 
through,"  —  so  he  thought.  "  I  am  just  sober 
enough  to  walk  my  chalk  if  I  pin  my  eyes  to  it. 
If  I  look  at  anything  else,  or  think  of  anything 
else,  this  path  '11  go  to  zigzagging,  and  splitting 
up  into  squirrel-tracks,  and  climbing  up  trees. 
Old  Voltaire  says  he  don't  know  these  back 
roads  very  well.  If  I  lose  the  track,  we  shall 
be  nowhere." 

The  region  a  mile  back  from  the  river  was 
mostly  forest  then,  with  scattered  clearings.  Of- 
ten the  course  of  our  fugitives  was  merely  a 
wood-road,  or  a  cow-path,  or  an  old  trail.  There 
were  giant  boles  stopping  the  way,  and  prone 
trunks  barricading  it.  There  were  bogs  and 
thickets  to  avoid. 

It  is  bewildering  business  to  travel  through  a 
forest  in  the  dark.  Jierck  Dewitt  knew  this  well. 
He  did  not  distract  his  attention  with  talk,  or 
recalling  the  events  of  the  evening.  He  held 
tight  with  all  his  eyes  and  all  his  wits  to  the 
track,  commanding  it  not  to  divide  or  meander. 
This  severe  application  steadied  his  brain.  He 
slowly  sobered.  The  fine  fumes  of  his  potations 
of  Brothertoft  Madeira,  in  the  cellar,  exhaled. 
The  coarser  gases  of  rum  from  the  paternal 
jug  split  their  exit  through  the  sutures  of  his 
skull. 


326  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

It  seemed  a  moment,  it  seemed  a  millennium, 
it  was  an  hour,  when  the  party  readied  the  foot 
of  Cedar  Ridge,  almost  three  miles  from  the 
Manor-House. 

Cedar  Ridge  is  a  famous  look-out.  "  What 
you  cannot  see  from  there  is  not  worth  see- 
ing," say  the  neighbors.  It  rises  some  three 
hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  river,  and 
surveys  highlands  north,  uplands  and  lowlands 
south,  with  Janus-like  vision. 

Long  before  Hendrecus  Hudson  baptized  the 
North  River,  Cedar  Ridge  was  a  sacred  mount 
—  a  hill  of  Sion  —  to  the  Redskins.  Fire  had 
disforested  the  summit,  and  laid  bare  two  bosomy 
mounds,  stereoscopic  counterparts,  with  a  little 
depression  between.  A  single  cedar,  old  as  the 
eldest  hills,  grew  in  this  hollow.  Around  it 
had  generations  of  frowzy  Indian  braves  held 
frantic  powwows,  and  danced  their  bow-legged 
minuets.  Many  a  captive  had  suffered  the  fate 
of  Saint  Sebastian  against  its  trunk,  and  dab- 
bled the  roots  with  his  copper-colored  blood. 
Savory  fragments  of  roast  Iroquois  had  fattened  •> 
the  soil.  Fed  on  this  unwholesome  diet,  and 
topped  every  winter  by  Boreas,  the  tree  made 
hard,  red  flesh,  and  bloated  into  a  stunted, 
wicked-looking  Dagon,  as  gnarled  and  knobby 
as  that  old  yew-tree  of  Fountains  Abbey,  which 
—  so  goes  the  myth  —  was  Joseph  of  Arima- 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  327 

thea's  staff,  —  planted  by  him  there  when  he  was 
on  his  tour  to  convert  the  hairy  Britons  from 
Angli  to  Angeti. 

A  famous  point  of  view  was  Cedar  Ridge, 
named  after  this  little  giant,  this  squat  sovereign 
among  evergreens. 

Such  a  landmark  attained  without  error,  Jierck 
Dewitt  began  to  feel  secure.  He  could  relax 
his  strict  attention  to  his  duties  as  guide,  and 
let  his  thoughts  confuse  him  again. 

The  moment  he  began  to  review  the  events 
of  the  evening  with  a  sobered  brain,  he  grew 
suddenly  troubled. 

He  halted  where  the  forest  ceased  on  the 
ridge,  and  the  two  bare  mounds  with  the  low 
cedar  appeared  against  the  sky.  He  paused 
there,  and  let  Voltaire  overtake  him. 

This  was  the  third  night  of  that  old  brave's 
travels.  The  present  pace  was  telling  on  him. 
lie  was  puffing  loud  and  long,  as  he  stopped  at 
Jierck's  signal.  The  others  passed  on  up  the 
ridge.  The  white  mare  became  a  spot  of  light 
in  the  open. 

"  Voltaire,"  whispered  Jierck,  "  I  did  n't  see 
the  Mistress  around  when  we  left  the  Manor. 
Do  you  know  what  was  done  with  her  ?  " 

"  Where  was  you,  that  you  did  n't  see  ?  "  asks 
Voltaire,  taking  and  yielding  air  in  great  gasps 
between  every  word. 


328  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

"  Never  mind  that !    What  became  of  her  ?  " 

"  Why  you  know  (puff)  that  she  fired  (gasp) 
a  pistol  (explosion  and  sigh)  at  Master;  and 
everybody  thought  (wheeze)  that  she  'd  shot  him 
dead."  Here  Voltaire  took  in  a  gallon  or  so 
of  night  air,  and  delivered  it  slowly  back,  by  tho 
pint,  in  the  form  of  a  chain  of  clouds,  as  white 
as  if  they  came  from  the  lungs  of  a  pure  Cau- 
casian. 

This  speech  explained  half  the  mystery  to 
Jierck.  His  curiosity  seemed  to  become  more 
troublesome.  He  continued  anxiously :  "  Yes, 
yes,  I  know,"  —  which  he  did  not  until  this 
moment.  "  But  what  was  done  with  her  after' 
wards.  I  was  outside,  doing  my  part  there." 

"  You  was  outside,  was  you  ?  "  says  Voltaire, 
slowly  recovering  fluency.  "  Well,  I  guess  they 
wanted  you  inside." 

"  A  man  can't  be  in  two  places  at  once.  What 
did  they  want  me  for  ?  " 

"  Them  two  boys  —  the  root-doctor's  son  and 
Samuel  Galsworthy  —  is  as  spry  as  any  two  boys 
I  ever  see.  Mighty  spry  and  strong  and  handy 
boys  they  is ;  but  they  had  a'niost  a  orkud  job 
with  Mistress,  she  tearing  and  scratching  so. 
They  wanted  another  hand  bad ;  but  they  got 
through,  and  fixed  her  up  right  at  last." 

"  Fixed  her  !     How  ? " 

"  What  you  in  such  an  orful  hurry  about  ? 
Let  a  man  take  breff,  won't  you  ?  " 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  329 

"  Yes  ;  but  speak  quick  !  What  did  they  do 
with  her  ?  Is  she  left  there  ?  " 

*(  Leff  thai* !  "  says  Voltaire,  relapsing  into  full 
patois.  "  Whar  would  dey  leave  her  ?  She  's 
done  tied  up  in  a  big  arin-cheer  in  de  parlor. 
An'  dar  she  '11  stay  all  dis  bressed  night,  jess 
like  a  turkey  truss  up  fur  to  be  roast."  And 
he  gave  a  little,  triumphant  chuckle,  that  seemed 
to  remember  old  cruelties  he  had  suffered  at  her 
hands. 

Jierck  made  no  answer.  He  seemed  to  need 
breath  as  much  as  the  negro.  He  gave  a  little 
gasp,  and  sprang  up  the  hill-side. 

Puzzled,  Voltaire  followed  slowly  after. 

While  they  talked,  the  others  had  climbed  to 
the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  halted  to  rest  where 
the  old  cedar  stood  barring  the  way. 

Jierck  Dewitt  came  panting  up  to  the  summit. 

He  turned  and  glanced  hastily  over  the  hazy 
breadth  of  slumbering  landscape  below. 

Belts  of  mist  lay  in  the  little  valleys.  Beyond 
was  the  river,  a  broad  white  pathway,  like  a 
void.  And  beyond  again,  the  black  heaps  of 
the  mountains  westward.  Here  and  there  in 
the  vague,  a  dot  of  light  marked  a  farm-house. 
The  lanterns  of  the  Britisli  frigates  were  to  be 
seen  twinkling  like  reflections  of  stars  in  water. 

It  may  have  been  fancy,  but  in  the  silence 
Lucy  thought  that  she  heard  the  far-away  sound 


330  EDWIN  BEOTHERTOFT. 

of  the  Tartar's  bell  striking  four  bells,  ten  o'clock, 
and  her  consorts  responding. 

Jierck  continued  peering  intently  into  the 
dark. 

His  seeming  alarm  communicated  itself  to  the 
party. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Brothertoft.  "  Do  you 
fear  pursuit  ?  " 

"  No,"  whispered  Jierck. 

His  monosyllable  sent  a  shiver  to  all  their 
hearts.  There  was  a  veiled  scream  in  this  single 
word,  —  a  revelation  of  some  terrible  panic  await- 
ing them. 

"  I  must  see  farther,"  resumed  Dewitt,  in  the 
same  curdling  tone ;  and  he  sprang  up  the 
mound  on  the  right. 

Edwin  Brothertoft,  impressed  by  this  strange 
terror,  followed. 

He  was  within  a  dozen  feet  of  the  summit, 
and  its  wider  reach  of  view,  when  Jierck  leaped 
down  and  seized  him  tight  by  both  shoulders. 
Jierck  caught  breath.  Then,  with  his  face  close 
to  the  other's,  —  "  My  God  !  "  he  hissed,  "  I  've 
set  the  house  on  fire.  We  've  left  that  woman 
there,  tied,  to  burn  to  death." 


XIX. 

EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT  shook  off  the  man's  clutch 
of  horror,  and  stared  southward. 

A  dull  glow,  like  the  light  of  moonrise  through 
mist,  was  visible  close  to  the  dark  line  of  the 
horizon. 

Instantly,  as  he  looked,  the  glow  deepened. 
The  black  mass  of  the  Manor-House  appeared 
against  the  light.  The  fire  must  be  in  the  rear 
and  below.  An  alarm-gun  from  the  frigate  came 
booming  through  the  silence. 

While  they  stood  paralyzed,  Edwin  Brothertoft 
sprang  down  from  the  mound,  tore  his  daugh- 
ter from  the  saddle,  and  was  mounted  himself 
quick  as  thought. 

"  I  must  save  her ! "  he  cried,  —  "  your  mother, 
my  wife ! " 

He  was  gone. 

A  moment  they  could  see  the  white  horse, 
like  a  flash  of  light,  as  she  flung  down  the 
break-neck  hill-side. 

Then  she  leaped  into  the  mist,  and  a  moment 
more  they  could  hear  her  hoofs  clattering. 


332  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

They  stood  appalled  and  speechless. 

Heart-beat  by  heart-beat  it  seemed  that  the 
fire  grew  intenser.  All  the  world  was  blotted 
out  for  the  gazers,  except  that  one  red  spot, 
like  a  displaced  moonrise,  far  to  the  southward. 

Fire  was  not  master  yet.  Who  could  say  ? 
Only  three  long  miles.  He  might  save  her. 
Other  succor  might  come. 

Lucy  gave  one  more  look  into  that  ocean 
of  mist  where  she  knew  her  father  was  strug- 
gling. Then,  quick  but  quiet,  she  seized  poor 
Jierck  Dewitt's  arm. 

"  Come,"  she  said  ;  "  show  me  the  way,  — 
the  shortest  way.  I  will  follow  my  father." 


XX. 

BROTHERTOFT  galloped  down  the  hill-side.  He 
had  no  whip  or  spur,  but  the  mare  took  in  his 
passion,  made  it  her  own,  and  dashed  forward 
madly.  No  winding  by  comfortable  curves  for 
them !  They  bore  straight  for  the  house. 

Three  miles  from  Cedar  Ridge,  —  three  miles 
to  go !  and  broken  country,  all  hill  and  gully ! 
No  sane  man  could  gallop  it  by  day.  A  night 
ride  there  might  be  the  dream  of  a  madman. 
There  were  belts  of  forest,  dense  and  dark,  with 
trees  standing  thick  as  palisades.  There  were 
ravines  crowded  with  thorny  thickets.  There 
were  stony  brooks,  and  dry  channels  stonier. 
There  were  high  walls  slanting  up  the  sharp 
slopes  of  the  scattered  clearings.  Down  was 
steep,  and  up  was  steep,  and  it  was  all  up  and 
down.  But,  though  darkness  trebled  the  dan- 
ger, horse  or  rider  never  shrank.  They  bore 
straight  on.  Three  miles  to  go! 

And  while  they  galloped,  the  rider's  thought 
galloped.  Sometimes  it  burst  out  into  a  cry  of 
encouragement  for  liis  horse ;  sometimes  it  was 


334  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

unspoken ;  but  all  the  while  it  went  on  wildly, 
thus :  — 

"  On,  Volante !  Straight  for  that  light  to  the 
south  !  Fires  move  fast ;  we  must  go  faster.  Only 
three  miles  away,  and  there  she  sits  bound,  —  and 
the  flames  coming,  —  she  I  once  loved,  God  knows 
how  faithfully !  Gallop,  gallop,  Volante  ! 

"  Bravely !  here  we  are  down  the  ridge ! 
Now,  stretch  out  over  this  smooth  bit  of  clear- 
ing !  Yes ;  that  black  line  is  a  stone  wall. 
Measure  it,  Volante !  Not  four  feet !  Good 
practice  for  our  first  leap !  Easy  now,  steady ! 
Hurrah  !  Over  and  a  foot  to  spare  !  Well  done, 
horse !  And  I  have  been  a  plodding  foot-soldier  ! 
But  I  can  ride  still,  like  a  boy,  side-saddle  or  no 
saddle.  A  Brothertoft  cannot  lose  the  cavalier. 
We  shall  win. 

"  What,  Volante  ?  Nothing  to  fear,  —  that 
white  strip  in  the  dell !  Only  a  brook.  Barely 
twelve  feet  to  leap.  Never  mind  the  dark  and 
the  bad  start!  Remember  my  wife,  —  she  burns, 
if  we  flinch.  Now,  together !  Hurrah !  Over, 
thank  God !  Splashed,  but  safe  over  and  away  ! 

"  A  clearing  again.  Shame,  Volaute  !  Are 
you  a  ploughman's  horse,  that  you  labor  so 
clumsily  in  these  furrows  ?  See  that  horrible 
glow  upon  the  sky !  This  wood  hides  it  again. 
Idle  forest !  why  was  it  not  burned  clean  from 
the  ground  a  century  ago  ?  Everything  baffles. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  335 

No,  Volante !  No  turning  aside  for  this  wind- 
row!  Over,  over!  Through,  through,  and  now 
straight  on !  Yes ;  the  hill  is  steep,  but  we 
must  gallop  down  it.  No  stumbling.  What ! 
another  wall,  and  higher  ?  You  shrink  !  No,  — 
you  must.  She  shall  not  burn !  Now,  God 
help  us  !  Down  ?  No  ;  up  and  off!  Hurrah  ! 

"  How  we  have  rattled  through  those  two 
miles!  And  here  is  the  road.  Easier  travel- 
ling, if  you  can  only  take  that  worm  fence ! 
The  top  bars  are  sure  to  be  rotten.  A  fair  start, 
my  good  mare,  and  do  your  best!  Bravely 
again !  I  knew  we  should  crash  over.  Plain 
sailing  now  !  What,  limping,  flagging,  Volante  ? 
Shame  !  This  is  a  road  fit  for  a  lady's  summer- 
evening  canter.  Shake  out,  Volante !  Let  me 
see  your  stride  !  Show  your  Lincolnshire  blood  ! 
The  winner  in  this  race  wins  Life, — LIFE,  do  you 
hear  ?  Wake  up  there,  you  farmers  !  Turn  out 
and  help !  Fire  at  Brothertoft  Manor.  FIRE  ! 

"Faster,  faster!  Are  we  too  late?  Never! 
I  see  the  glow  brighten  against  the  sky ;  but  the 
night  is  still  as  death ;  fire  will  move  slow. 
We  shall  see  at  the  turn  of  the  road.  Faster 
now !  She  must  not  burn,  sitting  there,  where  I 
saw  her  by  the  dear  fireside  of  the  years  gone 
by,  —  sitting  bound,  and  the  flames  snarling. 
All !  I  so  loved  her !  I  so  trusted  her !  We 
were  young.  Life  was  so  beautiful !  God  was 


336  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

BO  good!  It  was  miserable  that  she  should 
wound  me,  and  more  cruelly  wound  her  own 
soul.  But  I  have  forgiven  her.  0,  let  me  save 
her,  if  only  to  speak  peace  and  pardon !  She 
shall  not  burn.  A  dozen  strides,  and  we  can  see 
the  house.  Perhaps  this  great  light  is  the  sta- 
bles. No,  —  everything!  Fire  everywhere.  Too 
late  !  too  late !  Never !  1  can  burn.  She  shall 
not." 

And  they  galloped  up  the  lawn. 


XXI. 

"  I  AM  FIRE,  a  new-comer  on  the  scene  at  Broth- 
ertoft  Manor-House. 

"I  was  a  spark  from  Jierck  Dewitt's  flint,  a 
flash  of  his  powder,  a  feeble  smoulder,  a  pretty, 
graceful  little  flame,  peering  about  for  something 
nutritious.  I  was  weak.  I  get  force  as  I  go. 
Let  me  once  fairly  touch  fuel,  and  I  will  roar 
you,  roar  you,  —  ay,  and  roast  you  too  ! 

"  What  a  grand  pile  of  rubbish  I  see,  now  that 
I  can  light  up  this  dusky  den  of  a  cellar !  Let 
me  burrow  here  !  Let  me  scamper  here  !  Aha, 
I  am  warm  and  strong  !  A  leap  now !  Hurrah  ! 
I  am  so  large  and  vigorous  that  I  can  multiply 
myself.  Go,  little  flames,  rummage  everywhere. 
Blaze,  my  children,  flash  in  the  corners,  find 
what  you  like,  eat  and  grow  fierce.  Grow  fierce 
and  agile !  I  mean  to  exhibit  you  by  and  by. 
You  must  presently  run  up  stairs,  make  your- 
selves broad  and  slender,  dance,  exult,  and  de- 
vour everywhere. 

"  A  drop  of  the  famous  Brothertoft  Madeira, 
now,  for  Fire  and  family!  Here  goes  at  the 

15  V 


338  EDWIN  BKOTHEBTOFT. 

wine-room.  I  cannot  stop  to  draw  corks.  Down 
go  the  shelves  !  Crash  go  the  bottles  !  Drink, 
flames,  drink  !  What  nectar  !  How  this  black 
hole  of  a  cellar  shines  !  Fine  wine  makes  me 
hungry  for  finer  fare !  I  could  eat  titbits  now. 
Perhaps  I  shall  find  them  up  stairs.  A  cradle 
with  a  fat  bambino,  —  that  would  be  a  sweet 
morsel !  A  maiden's  bed  with  a  white-limbed 
maiden  on  it,  —  that  I  could  take  finely.  Come 
flames,  my  children,  up  stairs,  and  let  us  see 
what  we  can  find  !  Up,  my  strongest,  my  hun- 
griest, my  drunkest  flames !  up  and  follow ! 

"  I  am  FIEE  !     This  house  and  all  that  be  in  it 
ttre  mine." 


XXII. 

MRS.  BROTHERTOFT  sat  in  the  parlor  of  the  de- 
serted mansion,  bound,  helpless,  and  alone. 

She  was  exhausted  and  weak  after  her  furious 
struggle  with  her  captors.  Mental  frenzy  had 
wearied  her  mind. 

As  Major  Skerrett  closed  the  door,  and  she  was 
left  solitary,  a  little  brief  sleep,  like  a  faint,  fell 
upon  her. 

It  could  have  lasted  but  a  moment,  for  when 
she  suddenly  awoke,  the  final  footsteps  of  the  re- 
tiring party  were  still  sounding  upon  the  gravel 
road. 

She  listened  intently.  The  sound  ceased. 
Human  presence  had  departed.  Silence  about 
her,  —  except  that  the  fire  on  the  hearth  hissed 
and  muttered,  as  fire  imprisoned  is  wont  to  do, 
in  feeble  protest  against  its  powerlessness. 

This  moment  of  sleep  seemed  to  draw  a  line 
sharp  as  death  between  two  eras  in  Mrs.  Brother 
toft's  history.  From  the  hither  side  of  this  em- 
phatic interval  of  oblivion  she  could  survey  her 
past  life  apart  from  the  present.  Violence,  Force, 


340  EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT. 

had  at  last  intervened  in  her  career,  and  made 
their  mark  sharp  as  the  sudden  cleft  of  an  earth- 
quake in  a  plain. 

She  had  now  the  opportunity,  as  she  sat  bound, 
strictly  but  not  harshly,  before  a  comfortable  fire, 
to  review  her  conduct  and  approve  or  condemn. 
She  could  now  ask  herself  why  Force  had  come 
in  to  baffle  her  plans,  —  what  laws  she  had  broken 
to  merit  this  inevitable  penalty  of  failure  and 
insulting  punishment. 

There  was  a  pause  in  her  life,  such  as  is  given 
to  all  erring  and  guilty  lives  many  times  in  life, 
and  to  all  souls  in  death,  to  look  at  past  ruin 
quietly,  and  plan,  if  they  will,  with  larger  wisdom 
for  the  time  to  come. 

She  rapidly  put  together  her  facts,  and  without 
much  difficulty  comprehended  the  plot  of  Kerr's 
capture  and  Lucy's  evasion.  It  angered  her  to 
be  defeated  by  a  "  silly  child,"  as  she  had  named 
her.  But  she  put  this  aside  for  the  moment. 
A  graver  matter  was  to  be  considered. 

She  thought  of  her  husband,  lying  in  the 
dining-room,  slain,  as  she  supposed,  by  her  hand. 

Then,  in  her  soul,  began  a  great  and  terrible 
battle.  "  You  are  free !  "  her  old  companion 
Furies  whispered  her.  "  Free  of  that  incubus, 
your  husband.  Such  triumph  well  repays  you 
for  the  insult  of  a  few  hours'  bondage." 

But  then  a  low  voice  within  her  seemed  to  ask, 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  341 

"  Triumph  !  Can  you  name  it  triumph  that  you 
have  trampled  on  your  womanhood,  and  done 
murder  to  a  man  who  gave  you  only  love  and 
only  pity  when  you  wronged  him  ?  " 

"  Be  proud  of  yourself,  beautiful  creature !  " 
whispered  the  Furies.  "  You  are  an  imperial 
woman,  rich,  masterly,  and  skilful,  with  a  bril- 
liant career  before  you." 

"  Humble  yourself  before  God  and  your  own 
soul,  miserable  woman !  "  the  inner  voice  re- 
plied. "Repent,  or  that  murdered  man  will 
take  his  stand  at  your  side  forever." 

"  He  owed  you  this  vengeance,"  her  evil  spir- 
its hinted,  "  for  your  great  disappointment.  If 
he  had  not  been  a  nerveless  dreamer,  full  of 
feeble  scruples  and  sham  ambitions,  you  would 
have  had  all  your  heart  desired.  He  basely 
cheated  you.  He  promised  everything,  and  per- 
formed nothing.  He  was  the  pride  of  the  Prov- 
ince ;  he  let  himself  sink  into  insignificance. 
Poor-spirited  nobody !  It  was  a  kindness  to 
snuff  out  his  mean  and  paltry  life." 

"  Did  you  see  his  gentle  face  as  he  fell  ?  "  the 
counter  influence  made  answer.  "  How  gray 
and  old  he  was !  Do  you  remember  him  ?  —  it 
seems  but  yesterday  —  a  fair  youth,  kindling 
with  the  hopes  that  to  him  were  holy.  You 
loved  him  sometimes,  —  do  you  not  recognize 
those  moments  as  your  noblest  ?  Have  not 


342  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

yours  been  the  false  ambitions  and  the  idle 
dreams  ?  Is  not  all  this  misery  and  failure  the 
result  of  your  first  trifling  with  sin,  and  then 
choosing  it  ?  Disloyal  woman,  —  if  you  are  a 
woman,  and  not  a  fiend,  —  your  cruelty  has 
brought  defeat  and  shame  upon  you !  Profit  by 
this  moment  of  quiet  reflection !  see  how  the 
broken  law  revenges  itself!" 

"  Yes,  madam,"  the  other  voices  here  inter- 
rupted, "  you  cannot  escape  what  your  weakness 
calls  shame.  You  will  never  live  down  scandal. 
The  untempted  people  will  never  admit  you  to 
their  ranks.  Scorn  them.  Do  not  yield  to 
feeble  regrets.  Be  yourself,  —  your  brave,  de- 
fiant self!" 

The  Furies  were  getting  the  better.  The 
virago  was  more  and  more  overpowering  the 
woman.  Sometimes  she  sat  patient.  Some- 
times she  raged  and  struggled  impotently  with 
her  bonds.  It  was  terrible  in  the  dim  parlor  to 
watch  her  face,  and  mark  the  tokens  of  that  mad 
war  within. 

The  fire  in  the  chimney  had  been  slowly  heat- 
ing the  logs  all  this  time.  They  were  ripe  to 
blaze.  Suddenly  they  burst  into  a  bright  flame. 

Mrs.  Brothertoft  looked  up  and  saw  herself  in 
the  mirror  over  the  fireplace.  There  was  hardly 
time  for  a  thrill  of  self-admiration.  The  same 
flash  that  showed  her  her  own  face  revealed  also 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  343 

the  reflection  of  the  portrait  behind  her.  She 
saw  the  heads  of  Colonel  Brothertoft  and  his 
white  horse  looking  through  the  torn  curtain. 
She  had  not  glanced  that  way  since  her  scene  of 
yesterday  evening  with  the  picture.  She  had 
evaded  a  sight  that  recalled  her  treason.  Now  it 
forced  itself  upon  her.  Here  she  was  bound ; 
and  there,  over  her  own  head  in  the  mirror,  was 
a  ghostly  shadow  of  what  ? 

What!  was  this  the  ghostlier  image  of  her 
husband's  very  ghost  ?  Was  he  there  in  the  can- 
vas ?  Had  he  stolen  away  out  of  that  dead 
thing  once  his  body,  lying  only  a  few  steps  and 
two  doors  off?  Was  he  there  watching  her? 
Why  did  he  wear  that  triumphant  smile?  He 
was  not  used  to  smile  much  in  the  dreary  old 
times ;  —  never  to  sneer  as  this  semblance  was 
doing.  Even  that  beast,  the  white  horse,  shared 
in  his  master's  exultation  over  her  captivity, — 
his  nostrils  swelled,  and  he  seemed  to  pant  for 
breath  enough  to  neigh  over  a  victory. 

She  stared  an  instant,  fascinated  by  that  faint 
image.  There  was  a  certain  vague  sense  of 
relief  in  its  presence.  This  shadow  of  her  hus- 
band murdered  might  be  a  terror ;  but  he  in- 
tervened a  third  party  in  the  hostile  parley 
and  the  thickening  war  between  her  two  selves. 
This  memento  of  remorse  came  to  the  succor 
of  the  almost  beaten  relics  of  her  better  nature, 


844  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

and  commanded  them  to  turn  and  make  head 
again  against  that  reckless,  triumphant,  bedlam 
creature,  who  was  fast  gaining  the  final  mastery 
and  absorbing  her  total  being. 

Was  it  thus?  Had  this  image  of  a  ghost 
come  to  say,  "  My  wife,  the  old  tie  cannot  break. 
I  come  to  plead  with  you  not  to  annihilate  the 
woman,  not  to  repel  the  medicine  of  remorse, 
and  make  yourself  an  incurable,  irreclaimable 
fiend,"  —  was  this  his  errand  of  mercy  ? 

Or  did  he  stand  there  to  hound  on  the  Fren- 
zies, spiritual  essences,  to  her,  to  him  visible 
beings,  whom  she  felt  seducing  her?  Was  ho 
smiling  with  delight  to  see  her  spirit  zigzagging 
across  the  line  between  madness  and  sanity,  and 
staggering  farther,  every  turn,  away  from  self- 
control  ?  Which  was  this  shadow's  office  ? 

While  she  trembled  between  these  questions, 
still  staring  at  those  two  reflections  in  the  mirror, 
• — herself  and  that  image  of  the  portrait,  —  sud- 
denly the  flash  of  flame  in  the  chimney  went 
out.  A  downward  draught  sent  clouds  of  white 
smoke  drifting  about  the  room. 

Mrs.  Brother  toft  peered  a  moment  into  the 
darkness.  Her  own  reflection  in  the  mirror  was 
just  visible,  as  she  stirred  her  head.  She  missed 
the  other.  But  there  were  strange  sounds  sud- 
denly awakened,  —  a  strange  whispering  through 
the  house. 


EDWIN    3ROTHERTOFT.  345 

So  long  as  her  seeming,  ghostly  companion, 
was  visible,  she  had  kept  down  her  terror.  Now, 
as  she  fancied  it  still  present  but  unseen,  a  great 
dread  fell  upon  her.  She  writhed  in  her  bonds 
to  turn  and  face  that  portrait  on  the  wall.  She 
could,  with  all  her  pains,  only  move  enough 
to  see  a  little  corner  of  the  curtain. 

Did  it  move  ?  Would  something  unearthly 
presently  put  aside  those  dusky  folds,  and  come 
rustling  to  her  side  ? 

She  listened  a  moment,  and  then  screamed 
aloud. 

The  sound  of  her  own  voice  a  little  reassured 
her.  She  laughed  harshly,  and  her  soliloquy 
went  on,  but  wilder,  and  without  the  mild  en- 
treaties of  her  better  self. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  to  disturb  myself  with 
mere  paint  and  canvas  !  But  I  will  have  that 
picture  burnt,  —  yes,  burnt,  to-morrow  morning. 
The  man  is  gone,  and  every  relic  of  him  and 
his  name  shall  perish  from  the  earth.  How 
plainly  I  seem  to  see  him  lying  there  dead, 
with  his  face  upturned  !  What  ?  Do  dead  men 
stir  ?  I  think  he  stirred.  Do  you  dare  to  lift 
your  finger  and  point  at  me  ?  I  had  a  right  to 
shoot  housebreakers.  Put  down  your  finger, 
sir  !  You  will  not  ?  Bah !  Do  what  you  please, 
you  cannot  terrify  me.  You  shall  be  burnt, 
burnt,  —  do  you  hear?  I  smell  fire  strangely. 

15* 


346  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

The  smoke  from  that  chimney, — yes,  nothing 
else.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  cold  before  morn- 
ing ;  but  now  I  am  feverish.  The  air  seems  hot 
and  dry.  I  suppose  I  have  grown  excited,  tied 
here.  What  is  that  low  rustling  all  the  while  ? 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  come  from  the  cellar, 
then  it  is  here.  Any  one  in  this  room  ?  Speak ! 
Dewitt,  Sarah,  is  that  you  come  home  ?  No  an- 
swer ;  and  this  whispering  grows  louder.  Some 
other  chimney  must  be  smoking.  I  can  hardly 
breathe.  I  must  try  to  sleep,  or  I  shall  go  mad 
before  morning  with  that  dead  man  in  the  house. 
Put  down  your  finger,  sir !  Don't  point  at  me 
like  a  school-boy !  What !  Is  he  coming  ?  Is 
that  his  step  I  hear  in  the  hall  ?  Let  me  see, 
lie  has  only  two  steps  to  make  to  the  door,  five 
across  the  hall,  then  two  more  and  he  could  lean 
over  and  whisper  what  he  thought  of  me." 

She  listened  awhile  to  the  strange  sounds 
below,  and  then  went  on :  "  If  you  come  in  here, 
Edwin  Brothertoft,  and  speak  to  me,  I  shall  go 
crazy.  I  cannot  hear  any  of  your  meek  talk. 
Lie  where  you  are  till  morning,,  and  then,  if 
you  wish,  you  shall  be  buried.  Perhaps  burning 
was  a  little  too  harsh.  Morning  is  not  many 
hours  away.  It  must  be  nearly  ten  o'clock. 
But  if  this  smoke  grows  any  thicker,  I  shall  cer- 
tainly smother.  These  ghastly  noises  get  louder 
and  louder.  What  can  that  crash  be?  Is  the 


EDWIN   BROTIIERTOFT.  347 

dead  man  coming  ?  Help,  help !  Keep  him 
away!  Mr.  Brothertoft,  Edwin,  if  you  love  me, 
pray  stop  fumbling  at  that  latch.  You  know 
how  indulgent  you  always  were  to  my  little 
fancies ;  do  not  come  in,  if  you  please.  I  am 
afraid,  Edwin,  afraid.  I  am  so  fevered,  tied 
here  by  those  cursed  brigands,  that  I  shall  go 
mad.  I  am  suffocating  with  this  smoke.  Will 
some  one  bring  me  a  little  water  ?  But  when 
you  come,  do  not  look  into  that  room  across 
the  hall.  There  is  a  gray-headed  man  lying 
there.  He  may  say  I  murdered  him.  Do  not 
take  notice  of  him,  he  was  always  weak-minded, 
lie  will  say  1  insulted,  wronged,  dishonored  him, 
and  made  his  life  a  burden  and  a  shame.  Do 
not  listen  to  scandal  against  a  woman  ;  but  bring 
me  a  drop,  one  drop  of  water  to  cool  my  throat, 
for  I  am  burning  with  a  horrible  fever.  If  these 
strange  noises  underneath  and  all  around  do  not 
cease,  I  shall  certainly  go  mad.  What  can  it 
mean  ?  I  hear  sounds  like  an  army.  1  would 
rather  not  receive  your  friends  at  present,  Mr. 
Brothertoft,  if  it  is  their  feet  and  voices  I  hear. 
This  smoke  makes  my  eyes  red,  and  you  always 
were  proud  of  my  beauty,  you  know.  What ! 
have  they  lighted  their  torches,  those  ghosts  in 
the  hall  ?  Or  is  this  glow  through  the  room  the 
moon  ?  No.  My  God !  FIKE  !  I  shall  burn. 
O  Lucy,  Lucy  !  0  Edwin,  help  !  " 


XXIII. 

EDWIN  BROTHEBTOFT  came  galloping  up  to  the 
flames.  Had  he  won  this  race,  with  a  life  for 
its  prize  ? 

The  maddened  mare  tore  forward,  as  if  she 
would  leap  in  among  the  loud  riot  there. 

Fire  everywhere !  A  mob  of  arrogant,  roar- 
ing, frenzied  flames  possessed  the  cellar  and  the 
ground-floor.  Each  window,  so  long  a  peaceful 
entrance  for  sunbeams,  now  glowed  with  light 
within,  or  thrust  out  great  cruel  blades  of  fire, 
striking  at  darkness.  Fire  sheathed  the  base  of 
the  turret.  Agile  flames  were  climbing  up  its 
sides,  and  little  playful  flashes  seized  the  creep- 
ers that  overhung  Lucy's  window,  and,  clinging 
to  these,  peered  in  through  the  panes,  looking 
for  such  diet  as  they  craved. 

The  husband  turned  the  corner  of  the  house, 
and  galloped  up  to  the  window,  —  that  window 
where  an  hour  ago  he  had  stood  gazing  at  the 
proud,  hateful  face  of  the  woman  he  loved  so 
bitterly. 

The  white  horse  and  its  rider  looked  hi  at  the 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  349 

window.  And  this  is  what  tho  one  quick,  com- 
prehensive glance  of  horror  showed  them,  as  a 
draught  of  air  dragged  the  smoke  away. 

Opposite,  on  the  wall,  the  two  heads  of  the 
picture  were  just  yielding  to  the  flames  around 
them.  Little  buds  of  flame  were  sprouting 
through  the  floor,  little  tendrils  wreathing  the 
doors,  and  drawing  a  closer  circle  about  the  fig- 
ure at  their  centre.  There  she  sat,  as  if  this 
scene  was  prepared  to  illuminate  her  beauty. 
A  gush  of  air  lifted  the  smoke  like  a  curtain, 
and  there  she  was  sitting,  her  black  hair  tower- 
ing above  her  pale  forehead,  her  white  arms 
bound  to  the  chair,  and  the  red  light  of  her 
diamond  resting  upon  her  white  bosom. 

The  smoke  had  half  suffocated  her.  But  she 
was  revived  by  the  sudden  flood  of  air,  as  a 
burned  door  gave  way.  She  turned  her  head 
toward  the  window,  —  did  her  spirit  tell  her  that 
the  heart  she  had  wounded  was  there  ?  She 
lifted  her  feeble  head  as  her  husband  dashed 
forward,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that,  amid  all 
the  snarling  and  roaring  of  the  flames,  he  could 
hear  her  moan,  "  Help,  Edwin  !  Help  !  " 

The  bulbs  of  flame  through  the  floor  shot  up 
and  grew  rank,  the  wreaths  of  flame  reached 
out  and  spread  fast  as  the  beautiful  tendrils  of 
a  magic  vine,  the  smoke  drifted  together  again, 
and  hid  the  room  and  the  figure  sitting  there. 


350  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

Over  the  carpet  of  flame,  through  the  bower  of 
flame,  where  long  streamers  redder  than  autumn 
hung  and  climbed,  through  the  thick,  blinding, 
suffocating,  baffling  smoke,  Edwin  Brothertoft 
sprang  in  to  save  his  wife. 

God  help  him,  for  his  love  is  strong ! 

By  this  time,  from  the  Tartar  frigate  and  her 
consorts,  boats'-crews  were  making  for  the  burn- 
ing house.  They  hoped  to  handle  and  furl  the 
flames,  as  they  would  a  flapping  maintopsail  in  a 
gale.  By  this  time  the  Manor  people  were  also 
hurrying  up,  with  neighborly  intent  to  fling 
looking-glasses  and  crockery  from  the  windows, 
and  save  them. 

The  Tartars  were  exhilarated  by  the  splendid 
spectacle  of  fire  in  revolt.  It  was  indeed  a  wild 
and  passionate  scene.  From  every  window  fin- 
gers of  flame  beckoned  the  world  to  behold  it. 
And  now  on  Lucy's  turret  Fire  had  hoisted  its 
banner,  as  in  a  castle  the  flag  goes  up  when  the 
master  comes  to  hold  holiday. 

The  sailors  gained  the  foot  of  the  lawn.  This 
pageant  burst  upon  them.  Tbey  sprang  for- 
ward with  a  hurrah.  Suddenly  the  foremost 
paused  and  huddled  together.  What  is  it  ? 

A  dark  figure,  bearing  some  heavy  burden, 
appeared  at  the  only  window  of  the  front  where 
the  flames  were  not  overflowing  in  full  streams 
and  fouutaining  upward. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  851 

The  figure  came  fighting  forward.  Fire 
shouted,  and  clutched  at  it.  Smoke  poured 
around,  to  bewilder  it.  The  figure  —  a  man's 
form  —  staggered  and  fell.  Inward  or  outward 
—  inward  into  that  fiery  furnace,  or  outward 
toward  the  quiet,  frosty  air  of  night  —  the  sailors 
could  not  see. 

They  rushed  on  more  eagerly,  but  this  time 
without  the  cheer. 

Only  the  bravest,  with  Commodore  Ilotham 
himself  at  their  head,  dared  face  the  flames,  and 
touch  the  scorching  heat  to  seek  for  that  es- 
caping figure  they  had  seen. 

They  found  him  lying  without,  under  the 
great  window,  —  a  man,  and  in  his  arms  a 
burned  and  blackened  thing.  It  might  be,  they 
thought,  a  woman. 

They  carried  them  away  where  the  air  was 
cool,  and  the  crisp  frost  was  unmelted  on  the 
grass.  The  man  breathed,  and  moaned.  No 
one  knew  his  face,  masked  with  black  smoke. 

With  the  neighbors,  Mrs.  Dewitt  now  came 
running  up,  and  joined  the  group. 

"  See !  "  said  she,  with  a  shudder.  "  This  was 
my  mistress.  She  always  wore  this  diamond  on 
her  neck  in  the  evening.  She  is  dead.  No;  she 
breathes ! " 

Yes ;  there  was  the  gem,  showing  red  reflec- 
tions of  the  flames.  An  hour  ago  the  woman 


352  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

had  been  a  beauty,  and  the  diamond  a  point  of 
admiration,  saying,  "  Mark  this  white  neck  and 
this  fair  bosom !  "  Now  it  made  the  utter  ruin 
there  more  pitiful. 

Some  one  led  forward  Yolante,  drooping  and 
all  in  a  foam.  There  was  evidently  some  mys- 
tery in  this  disaster.  "  Take  these  burned  crea- 
tures to  the  nearest  house,"  said  Hotham. 
"  And  now,  boys,  some  of  you  try  to  save  the 
stables.  Some  come  with  me  at  the  house. 
There  were  more  people  in  it." 

The  sailors  fought  fire.  The  others  carried 
the  two  bodies  to  Bilsby's  farm-house.  The 
flames  showed  them  their  path  under  the  red- 
leaved  trees  of  October. 

The  same  ruddy  light  was  guiding  Lucy 
Brothertoft  on  her  way  to  what  a  little  while  ago 
was  home. 

Long  before  she  reached  the  spot,  the  roar  and 
frenzy  of  the  flames  had  subsided. 

Nothing  was  left  but  the  ragged  walls  and 
the  red  ruins  of  the  Manor-House.  It  had  been 
punished  by  fire  for  the  misery  and  sin  it  had 
sheltered. 

A  guard  of  sailors,  under  a  lieutenant,  pro- 
tected what  little  property  had  been  saved. 
Lucy  learned  from  them  how  an  unknown  man 
had  rescued  her  mother  to  die  away  from  the 
flames. 


EDWIN   BROTHEKTOFT.  353 

She  left  Voltaire  to  make  some  plausible  story 
of  the  kidnapping,  and  to  invent  a  release  of 
hers  from  the  captors'  hands,  when  the  fire  they 
had  accidentally  kindled  was  discovered. 

She  hastened  to  help  the  father  she  loved  and 
the  mother  she  pitied  so  deeply. 

Jierck  Dewitt  followed  her  to  Bilshy's  door. 

"  Go,  Jierck ! "  she  said.  "  It  makes  mo 
shudder  to  sec  you,  and  think  of  this  dreadful 
harm  you  have  done.  Go  and  tell  the  whole 
to  Major  Skerrett." 

"  Will  you  speak  to  my  wife,  Miss  Lucy,  and 
show  her  how  she  is  to  blame,  —  how  her  wrong 
sent  me  wrong?  Tell  her  how  she  and  I  are 
linked  in  with  ruin  here.  Perhaps  it  will  help 
you  to  forgive  me  if  you  can  better  her." 

Lucy  promised. 

She  entered  the  farm-house  to  encounter  her 
holy  duties  with  her  parents. 

Jierck  hurried  off  to  meet  Major  Skerrett,  givo 
him  the  sorrowful  history  of  the  night,  and  warn 
him  away  from  a  region  that  would  be  alive  by 
daylight,  and  bayonetting  haystacks  and  hollow 
trees  for  kidnappers. 

The  penitent  fellow  could  get  no  farther  on  his 
return  than  Cedar  Ridge.  There  he  saw  the  red 
embers  of  the  Manor-House  watching  him  from 
the  edge  of  the  horizon,  like  the  eye  of  a  Cy- 
clops. He  was  fascinated,  and  sank  down  at  the 


254  EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT. 

foot  of  the  uncanny  old  cedar,  sick  with  horror 
and  fatigue. 

Skerrett  and  Canady,  pressing  anxiously  on, 
found  Jierck  there  at  sunrise,  asleep  and  half 
dead  with  cold.  They  roused  him,  and  heard 
his  story. 

A  little  wreath  of  smoke  alone  marked  the  site 
of  the  Manor-House.  Here  was  the  starting- 
point,  there  was  the  goal  of  Edwin  Brothertoft's 
night  gallop.  It  thrilled  the  Major  to  hear  of 
that  wild  ride,  and  to  fancy  he  saw  the  white 
horse  dashing  through  the  darkness  on  that 
noble  errand  of  mercy. 

"  Some  men  would  have  said,  *  Curse  her  !  let 
her  burn !  She 's  hurt  me  worse  than  fire  '11 
hurt  her,'  "  says  Hendrecus.  "  Some  would  have 
took  the  turns  of  the  road,  and  got  to  the  house 
when  it  was  nothing  but  chimbleys.  Some 
would  have  been  afeard  of  being  known,  and  shot 
for  a  rebel.  I  've  heard  say  that  the  Patroon 
was  n't  one  of  the  strong  kind  ;  but  lie  's  done  a 
splendid  thing  here,  and  I  'm  proud  of  myself 
that  I  was  born  on  the  same  soil,  and  stand  a 
chance  to  have  some  of  the  same  natural  grit 
into  me." 

Nothing  further  could  be  done,  and  it  was  not 
safe  to  loiter.  The  three  returned  over  the 
Highlands  to  Putnam's  army.  And  that  day, 
and  for  many  days,  Peter  Skerrett  meditated  on 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  355 

this  terrible  end  of  the  sorrow  and  sin  at  Broth- 
ertoft  Manor.  He  traced  with  ghastly  interest 
the  different  paths  by  which  vengeance  con- 
verged upon  the  guilty  woman,  and  saw  with 
what  careful  method  her  crime  had  prepared  its 
own  punishment.  "  God  grant,"  said  he,  "  that 
she  may  live  to  know  what  love  and  pity  did  to 
save  her  from  the  horror  of  her  penalty  !  " 


XXIV. 

WOULD  that  marred  and  ruined  being,  once  the 
beautiful  Mrs.  Brothertoft,  ever  revive  enough 
to  ask  and  receive  forgiveness  from  her  hus- 
band? 

Lucy  did  not  dare  to  hope  it.  She  watched  the 
breathing  corpse,  and  looked  to  see  it  any  mo- 
ment escape  from  its  bodily  torture  into  death. 

Edwin  Brothertoft  was  but  little  harmed  by 
the  flames.  A  single  leap  had  carried  him 
through  the  fiery  circle  which  was  devouring  his 
wife,  as  she  sat  bound.  In  an  instant  he  had 
dragged  her  away  over  the  falling  floor,  cut  her 
free,  and  was  at  the  window  struggling  through. 
He  had  been  almost  stifled  by  the  smoke,  but  his 
hurts  were  slight.  In  a  few  days  he  was  at  his 
wife's  bedside. 

He  alone  could  interpret  the  sad,  sad  language 
of  her  suffering  moans.  Her  soul,  half  dormant, 
in  a  body  robbed  of  all  its  senses,  seemed  to  per- 
ceive his  presence  and  his  absence  by  some  spir- 
itual touch.  Would  she  ever  hear  his  words  of 
peace? 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  357 

The  red,  ripe  leaves  grew  over-ripe,  and  fell, 
and  buried  October.  Then  came  the  first  days 
of  November,  with  their  clear,  sharp  sunshine, 
and  bold,  blue  sky,  and  massive  white  clouds, 
sailing  with  the  northwest  wind  a  month  be- 
fore the  snow-drifts.  Sweet  Indian  summer  fol- 
lowed. Its  low  southern  breezes  whispered  the 
dying  refrain  of  the  times  of  roses  and  passion- 
ate sunshine. 

Edwin  Brothertoft  sat  by  his  wife's  window 
one  twilight  of  that  pensive  season. 

A  new  phase  in  his  life  had  begun  from  the 
night  of  the  rescue.  By  that  one  bold  act  of 
heroism  he  had  leaped  out  of  the  old  feebleness. 
He  felt  forgotten  forces  stir  in  him.  His  long 
sorrow  became  to  him  as  a  sickness  from  which  a 
man  rises  fresh  and  purified. 

In  this  mood,  with  the  dim  landscape  before 
him,  a  symbol  of  his  own  sombre  history,  and 
the  glowing  sky  of  evening  beyond,  symbolizing 
the  clear  and  open  regions  of  his  mind's  career 
henceforth,  —  in  this  mood  he  grew  tenderer  for 
his  wife  than  ever  before. 

It  was  no  earthly  love  he  felt  for  her.  That 
had  perished  long  ago.  Deceit  on  her  side 
wounded  it.  Disloyalty  killed  it.  The  element 
of  passion  was  gone.  There  would  have  been  a 
deep  sense  of  shame  in  recalling  his  lover  fond- 
ness oiice  for  a  woman  since  unfaithful.  But 


368  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

now  he  looked  back  upon  her  wrongs  and  his 
errors  as  irremediable  facts,  and  he  could  pity 
both  alike.  The  tendency  of  such  a  character  as 
hers,  so  trained  as  hers,  to  some  great  rebellion 
against  the  eternal  laws,  some  great  trial  of  its 
strength  with  God,  and  to  some  great  and  final 
lesson  of  defeat,  became  plain  to  him.  The  law 
of  truth  in  love  and  faith  in  marriage  is  the 
law  a  woman  is  likely  to  break  if  she  is  a  law- 
breaker. 

She  had  broken  it,  and  he  divined  the  spiritual 
warfare  and  the  knowledge  of  defeat  and  degra- 
dation which  had  been  her  spiritual  punishment, 
bitterer  to  bear  than  this  final  corporeal  ven- 
geance. 

Entering  into  her  heart  and  reading  the 
thoughts  there,  he  utterly  forgave  and  pitied 
her. 

And  for  himself,  —  what  harm  had  she  done 
him  ?  None,  —  so  he  plainly  saw.  Except  for 
the  disenchanting  office  of  this  great  sorrow, 
he  would  have  lived  and  died  a  worldly  man. 
When  his  poetic  ardors  passed  with  youth,  he 
would  have  dwindled  away  a  prosperous  gen- 
tleman, lost  his  heroic  and  martyr  spirit,  and 
smiled  or  sneered  or  trembled  at  the  shout  for 
freedom  through  the  land.  Except  for  this  great 
sorrow,  his  graceful  gifts  would  have  made  him  a 
courtier,  his  refinement  would  have  become  fas- 


EDWIN  BROTHERTOFT.  359 

tidiousness,  he  would  have  learned  to  idolize  the 
status  quo,  and  then,  when  the  moment  came  for 
self-sacrifice,  he  would  have  been  false  to  his 
nobler  self.  That  meanness  and  misery  he  had 
escaped.  That  he  had  escaped  it,  and  knew 
himself  to  be  a  man  wholly  true,  was  victory. 
The  world  might  repeat  its  old  refrain  of  dis- 
appointment in  his  career ;  it  might  say,  "  He 
promised  to  be  our  brilliant  leader,  —  he  is  no- 
body." But  it  could  never  say,  "  See,  there  is 
Brothertoft !  He  was  an  ardent  patriot ;  but 
wealth  spoiled  him,  the  Court  bought  him,  and 
he  left  us  meanly." 

"  My  life,"  he  thought,  "  has  been  somewhat  a 
negative.  I  have  missed  success.  I  have  missed 
the  joy  of  household  peace.  And  yet  I  bear  no 
grudge  against  my  destiny.  I  have  never  for 
one  moment  been  false  to  the  highest  truth,  and 
that  is  a  victory  greater  than  success." 

These  last  words  he  had  spoken  aloud. 

In  reply,  he  heard  a  stir  and  a  murmur  from 
his  wife. 

He  turned  to  her,  and  in  the  dusk  he  could 
see  that  her  life  was  recoiling  from  death  to  gain 
strength  to  die.  Voice  and  expression  returned 
to  her. 

"  Edwin  !  "  she  called  to  him,  feebly. 

"  Jane  ?  "  he  answered. 

In  the  pleading  tone  of  her  cry,  in  the  sweet 


360  EDWIN   BROTHEKTOFT. 

affection  of  his  one  word  of  response,  each  read 
the  other's  heart.  There  was  no  need  of  long 
interpretation.  To  her  yearning  for  pardon  and 
love,  her  name  upon  his  lips  gave  full  assurance 
that  both  were  granted. 

She  reached  blindly  for  his  hand.  He  took 
hers  tenderly.  And  there  by  the  solemn  twilight 
they  parted  for  a  time.  Death  parted  them. 
She  awoke  in  eternity.  He  stayed,  to  share  a 
little  longer  in  the  dreamy  work  of  life. 


XXV. 

A  WORD  of  farewell  to  Major  Kerr. 

He  had  a  horrid,  horrid  time  at  Fishkill. 

Little  but  pork  and  beans  to  eat,  little  but 
apple-jack  to  drink,  nothing  but  discomfiture  to 
think  of. 

He  experienced  shame. 

A  letter  was  conveyed  to  him  from  Lucy 
Brothertoft.  She  wrote,  as  kindly  as  might  be, 
what  her  real  feelings  had  been  toward  him. 
She  also  described  the  sad  tragedy  of  the  night 
of  his  capture. 

The  conviction  that  he  was  a  shabby  fellow 
had  by  this  time  pierced  Kerr's  pachyderm.  Ho 
was  grateful  to  Lucy  that  she  felt  no  contempt 
for  him.  But  her  gentle  dignity  reproached  his 
unmanliness  to  her,  and  he  became  a  very  de- 
jected penitent. 

General  Burgoyne  has  been  an  important 
character  behind  the  scenes  of  this  drama.  Ho 
was  a  clever  amateur  playwright,  and  while  our 
personages  have  been  doing  and  suffering,  the 
General  has  been  at  work  at  a  historical  play, 

16 


362  EDWIN  BROTHEKTOFT. 

which  he  meant  to  name,  "  Saratoga,  or  the  Last 
of  the  Rebels."  There  was  some  able  acting  hi 
it,  and  all  the  world  watched  for  the  catastrophe 
quite  breathless  and  agape.  A  brilliant  pageant 
of  a  surrender  closed  the  play,  in  which,  to  the 
general  surprise,  it  was  Jack  Burgoyne,  and  not 
Horatio  Gates,  who  gave  up  the  sword  and 
yielded  the  palm. 

This  news  came  flying  down  to  Fishkill  within 
ten  days  after  Major  Kerr's  capture. 

Tho  unlucky  fellow  heard  of  the  great  take  of 
British  and  Hessian  officers.  He  began  to  fear 
prisoners  were  a  drug  in  the  market,  and  he 
must  cat  Continental  fare  till  his  stomach  was 
quite  gone. 

"  Write  to  Sir  Henry  Clinton,"  said  Old  Put, 
good-naturedly,  "  that  1  '11  swap  you  for  your 
value  in  the  Yankees  he  took  with  the  Highland 
forts." 

Kerr  indited  a  doleful  account  of  his  diet  and 
impending  dyspepsia  to  his  General. 

"  I  must  have  him  back,"  said  Sir  Henry. 
"Anybody  can  be  an  Adjutant;  but  nobody  in 
His  Majesty's  army  can  carve  a  saddle  of  mutton, 
or  take  out  a  sidebone,  with  Kerr." 

The  "  swap  "  was  arranged.  The  Major  was 
put  on  board  the  Tartar,  opposite  Brothevtoft 
Manor.  He  went  off  a  sadder  and  a  wiser  man. 

His  capture  had  served  its  purpose  of  amusing 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  363 

Putnam's  desponding  forces.  The  General  had 
been  able  to  write  to  Washington,  "  We  have  lost 
the  Highland  forts;  but  we  have  taken  an  Ad- 
jutant "  ;  —  and  Humphreys  had  composed  a 
doggerel,  beginning,  —  "0  Muse,  inspire  my 
feeble  pen,  To  sing  a  deed  of  merit,  Performed 
to  daunt  the  enemy,  By  Major  Peter  Skerrett." 

Poor  Kerr  !  when  he  reached  New  York,  lie 
was  all  the  time  haunted  by  regrets  for  his  lost 
bride.  "  Up  again,  and  take  another !  "  is  the 
only  advice  to  be  given  under  such  circum- 
stances. Some  other  flower  of  lower  degree 
must  be  a  substitute  for  the  rose. 

Cap'n  Baylor,  late  of  a  whaler,  now  the  chief 
oil  man  of  New  York,  had  a  daughter  Betty. 
She  was  a  dumpy  little  maid.  Flippers  were 
her  hands,  fin-like  were  her  feet.  Nothing  stat- 
uesque about  her ;  but  she  tinkled  with  coin, 
and  that  tintinnabulation  often  opens  the  eyes 
of  Pygmalion. 

Her  the  Major  wooed,  and  glibly  won. 

Cap'n  Baylor  oiled  out  his  son-in-law's  debts. 
Kerr  resigned  his  Adjutancy,  and  took  his  wife 
home. 

Gout  presently  carried  off  the  knobby  old  Earl 
of  Bendigh.  The  Bucephalus  colt  made  Brother 
Tom  acephalous,  by  throwing  him  over  a  wall. 
Brother  Dick  succumbed  to  Bacchus.  Harry 
Kerr,  our  Kerr,  became  the  sixth  Earl  of 
Bendigh. 


364  EDWIN  BEOTIIEKTOFT. 

His  dumpy  Countess  studied  manners  in  Eng- 
land, and  acquired  the  delicious  languor  of  a 
lady's-maid.  She  wore,  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  white  gloves  tight  as  thumbikins.  She 
consumed  perfume  by  the  puncheon.  But  sho 
was  an  honest,  merry  soul,  who  would  stand  no 
bullying.  She  kept  Kerr  in  order,  and  made 
him  quite  a  tolerably  respectable  fellow  at  last. 

By  and  by,  out  of  supreme  gratitude  to  her 
for  his  wedded  bliss,  he  had  the  Baylor  arms 
looked  up  at  the  Herald's  office.  They  were 
found,  and  quartered  with  his  own,  and  may 
still  be  seen  on  the  coat  of  the  Kerrs,  Bendigh 
branch,  as  follows :  "  On  a  rolling  sea  vert,  a 
Leviathan  rampant,  sifflant  proper.  Crest,  a 
hand  grasping  a  harpoon.  Motto,  ILLTC  SPIBAT, 
—  THERE  SHE  BLOWS." 


XXVI. 

GENERAL  VAUGHAN  came  down  the  river  from 
Kingston,  smelling  of  arson.  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
destroyed  the  Highland  forts  and  retired  to  New 
York.  The  Continental  outposts  forthwith  re- 
occupied  Peekskill. 

With  them  came  Peter  Skcrrett,  and  there 
were  bristles  on  his  upper  lip  a  week  or  so  old. 

He  hastened  at  once  toward  the  Bilsby  farm, 
where  the  Brothertofts  had  found  shelter.  He 
turned  aside  on  the  way  to  see  the  ruins  of  the 
Manor-House. 

It  was  still  brilliant  October.  If  the  trees  that 
first  put  on  crimsons  and  purples  now  were  sere 
and  bare,  later  comers  kept  up  the  pageant. 
Indeed,  the  great  oaks  had  only  just  consented 
to  the  change  of  season.  It  took  sharp  frosts  to 
scourge  green  summer  out  of  them. 

The  woods  seemed  as  splendid  to  Peter  Sker- 
rett  as  when  he  looked  over  them  on  the  day 
of  his  adventure  here.  Nothing  was  altered, 
except  in  one  forlorn  spot. 

There,  instead  of  the  fine  old  dignified  Manor- 


366  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

House,  appeared  only  a  dew-sodden  heap  of  cin- 
ders and  ashes,  —  the  tragic  monument  of  a 
tragedy. 

"  It  did  well  to  perish,"  thought  Skerrett. 
"  It  had  sheltered  crime.  Its  moral  atmosphere 
was  tainted.  The  pure  had  fled  from  it.  Hap- 
piness never  could  dwell  there." 

Peter  stood  leaning  against  a  great  oak-tree, 
and  studying  the  scene.  The  autumn  leaves 
around  him  dallied  and  drifted,  and  fell  into  the 
lap  of  earth.  He  lingered,  he  hesitated,  and  let 
his  looks  dally  with  the  vagrant  leaves,  as  they 
circled  and  floated  in  the  quiet  air,  choosing  the 
spots  where  they  would  lay  them  down  and  die. 

Just  now  he  was  in  such  eager  haste ;  and 
now  he  hesitated,  he  lingered,  he  shrank  from  ar 
interview  he  had  ardently  anticipated. 

The  fair  girl  he  had  aided  to  save  from  a  mis- 
erable fate,  —  her  face,  seen  for  a  moment  dimly 
by  starlight,  ever  haunted  him.  These  heavj 
sorrows,  coming  upon  her  young  life,  filled  him 
with  infinite  pity.  As  he  thought  of  her,  the 
undeveloped  true  lover  in  him  began  to  de- 
velop. 

And  now,  standing  in  this  place  where  he  had 
first  seen  her  in  a  moment  of  peril,  where  he 
had  felt  the  grateful  pressure  of  her  hand,  he 
perceived  how  large  and  vigorous  his  passion  had 
grown  from  these  small  beginnings. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  367 

He  feared  the  meeting  he  had  yearned  for. 
It  was  to  assure  him  whether  this  was  really  love 
he  felt,  or  but  another  passing  fancy  like  the 
others  past. 

And  if  it  were  the  great,  deep  love  he  hoped, — 
if,  when  he  saw  her  face,  and  touched  her  hand, 
and  heard  her  voice  again,  his  soul  recognized 
hers  as  the  one  companion  soul,  —  this  filled  him 
with  another  dread. 

For  if  to  know  himself  a  lover,  and  half  foresee 
that,  after  long  and  thorough  proof  of  worthiness, 
he  might  be  beloved,  were  the  earliest  thrill  of 
an  immortal  joy ;  so  this  meeting,  if  it  named 
him  lover,  and  yet  convinced  him  by  sure  tokens 
that  his  love  would  never  be  returned,  was  the 
first  keen  pang  of  a  sorrow  immeasurable. 

No  wonder  that  he  waited,  and  traced  the  cir- 
cuits of  the  falling  leaves,  and  simulated  to  his 
mind  a  hundred  motives  for  delay. 

It  was  so  still  in  the  warm,  sunshiny  afternoon 
that  he  could  hear  the  crumbling  cinders  fall  in 
the  ruins,  and  all  about  him  the  ceaseless  rustle 
of  the  showering  foliage. 

But  presently  a  noise  more  articulate  sounded 
on  the  dry  carpet  of  the  path  behind  him.  A 
light  footstep  was  coming  slowly  toward  thifr 
desolated  spot.  It  seemed  to  Skerrett  that  he 
divined  whose  step  would  bring  her  hither  to 
read  again  the  lesson  of  the  ruins. 


868  EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT. 

He  walked  forward  a  little,  that  his  sudden 
appearance  against  the  oak  might  not  startle 
the  new-comer.  He  would  not  turn.  It  was 
new  to  the  brave  and  ardent  fellow  to  perceive 
timidity  in  his  heart,  and  to  evade  an  encounter 
with  any  danger. 

The  footstep  quickened,  —  a  woman's  surely. 
In  a  moment  he  heard  a  sweet  voice  call  his 
name. 

A  shy  and  timorous  call,  a  gentle,  trembling 
tone,  —  it  came  through  the  sunshine  and  made 
all  the  air  music. 

Her  voice  !  It  was  the  voice  he  had  longed 
and  dreaded  to  hear.  But  now  he  feared  no 
more.  He  believed  that  his  immortal  joy  was 
begun,  and  these  tremors  of  his  soul,  in  answer 
to  the  trembles  of  her  call,  could  never  be  the 
earliest  warnings  of  an  agony. 

He  saw  her  face  again,  fairer  than  he  had 
dreamed,  in  the  happy  sunlight.  He  felt  again 
the  thankful  pressure  of  her  hand.  He  listened 
to  her  earnest  words  of  gratitude. 

They  spoke  a  little  —  he  gravely,  she  tear- 
fully —  of  the  tragedy  of  her  mother's  life.  This 
shadow  deepened  the  tenderness  of  the  lover. 
And  she,  perceiving  this,  drew  closer  to  him, 
giving  tokens,  faint  but  sure,  as  he  fancied,  of 
the  slow  ripening  happiness  to  grow  henceforth. 

Then  she  guided  him  to  see  his  friend,  her 
father. 


EDWIN   BROTHERTOFT.  369 

The  level  sunbeams  of  evening  went  before 
them  in  the  path.  They  disappeared  amid  the 
wood.  Golden  sunshine  flowed  after  them.  The 
trees  showered  all  the  air  full  of  golden  leaves 
of  good  omen. 

It  seems  the  fair  beginning  of  a  faithful  love. 

"Will  it  end  in  doubt,  sorrow,  shame,  and  for- 
giveness ;  or  in  trust,  joy,  constancy,  and  peace  ? 


THE  END. 


Cambridge  i   Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  *  Co. 


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